


The Power of Persuasion

by JaneDavitt, wesleysgirl



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 09:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 51,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneDavitt/pseuds/JaneDavitt, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleysgirl/pseuds/wesleysgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the spring after Giles returns to England following 'Tabula Rasa'. London is suffering mysterious power cuts and Giles is feeling bored. Ethan's got an answer to both those problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Power of Persuasion

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Magpie and Wolfling for the betas.

The power came back on in the middle of the night. 

That was good in theory, but actually a mixed blessing as Giles, going wearily to bed after hours of trying to read by candlelight, had left the bedroom light switch on. 

Bloody power cuts. 

They'd started in the North of England, inexplicable and random. Soon enough they'd moved south, tracked on the news by a map that showed a pattern of dots that if linked in date and order zigzagged wildly at first, but then become arrow straight, heading for London. 

London ... and nowhere else. The National Grid was 'unable to confirm conclusively as to why these rolling blackouts are currently restricted to the capital' just as they were unable to rule out sabotage, terrorists, or mice. Giles didn't share the general indignation on that score -- he knew too much about the way the world worked to expect answers as a God-given right -- but he had felt a stab of annoyance that they wouldn't even cross rodents off the list, just in case it _was_ , and they ended up looking like fools. 

After stumbling over to switch off the light, he pulled the covers over his head, allowing himself to hope that that was the last one. 

A breakfast of lukewarm tea and toast that was still white due to a power cut two minutes into his breakfast preparations put his ill-timed optimism to rest. He went into work anyway, deciding to walk for once as it wasn't raining. Most of the contracted-out translation work he did for the Watchers Council didn't require a working computer -- just a sharp pencil and a stack of paper. 

And a sizable occult reference library, but that he had. 

Staring across the street, waiting for the traffic lights to change -- they seemed to operate even when the power was out, which he assumed was because of some sort of backup generators -- he drifted into thoughts of his current task, a particularly tricky assignment as he was having to brush up on a demon language he'd never been fluent in. 

A shove against his arm alerted him to the fact that the lights had changed, and a blinking man was signalling that it was safe to cross. His moment of inattention meant that he was the last to cross, hurrying after a mother pushing a pram loaded down with bags and a squalling toddler. The pavement ahead was crowded as the people crossing arrived and split off in both directions, hampered by an indecisive couple, a young man and a woman, heads close together as they studied a map, blocking the way. 

As Giles watched, a man hurried past them, his head down, and two things happened at the same time: the map was knocked from the couple's hands, caught by a sudden gust of air and fluttering away, and the lights changed, all of them turning green, leaving Giles in the middle of a busy city intersection with -- Good Lord, cars bearing down on him from every direction -- 

He ran forward, slamming into the back of the mother with the pram, shoving her and her child towards the pavement where the thick crowds miraculously parted to allow her refuge. Stumbling, he leapt forward himself, reaching out to grip the low railing separating pavement from road around the crossing, using it to halt himself at the cost of a wrenched shoulder. 

The space where he'd stood a moment before was suddenly filled with two cars, both clinging to the belief that they had right of way and unwilling to concede it. 

The crash and grind of metal as the vehicles collided echoed in Giles' head as he took a deep, shaky breath. 

No one, amazingly, was hurt, although the sobbing mother, once she'd been made to see that no, Giles hadn't wantonly attacked her, was embarrassingly effusive in her gratitude. Smiling awkwardly and nursing his aching arm, Giles retreated as quickly as he could without being rude and continued on towards his office as he did most days. 

He'd returned to London over Buffy's protests, determined to get on with his life, and the Council, slightly to his surprise given the friction that still existed between him and Travers, had been good enough to send a fair amount of work his way. The organisation did, obviously, have a good deal of experience in dealing with Watchers who'd lost their Slayers, although considerably less with ones that had lost and then found them again. 

Happily, his office was far enough away from his flat that the power was working properly there -- either that, or in the time it had taken him to walk there things had straightened themselves out. As Giles opened the front door to the building that housed his office and started up the stairs to the first floor, he passed two women whom he believed worked on the ground floor, one of whom was complaining to the other that she'd lost half the contents of her refrigerator the night before. He sympathised with her. It'd happened to him, although on a smaller scale, the week before. 

He unlocked his door and went inside his small office, noting that the bag he often used to transport books back and forth from office to home was sitting on the floor. He reminded himself that he ought to buy some more candles, of the utilitarian variety, so that he could stop using ones intended for more mystical purposes. Not that he'd had the opportunity to put those to proper use any time recently. 

It wasn't that he missed the constant pressure of living on the Hellmouth, he told himself. Not really. Besides, one quickly grew accustomed to a town that, at night, was as safe to walk through as a cage of hungry tigers -- because, with the Slayer there, the tigers were chained and muzzled. And he could take care of himself. 

No, he didn't miss the danger, didn't miss the way he was reminded each day, in some fashion, that life was short and easily snuffed out -- like a candle, if it came to that. 

But he missed the people, missed his friends. And God, this was dull! 

Useful, reasonably lucrative, well within his capabilities, but so very dull. 

He turned on his electric kettle and stood waiting for it to boil, staring out of the window and rubbing his shoulder absently. Odd that the lights would malfunction like that. 

On the other hand, he probably didn't know enough about the way the National Grid functioned. There was little doubt that a great deal of the control of power was done by computers these days. Perhaps the sort of malfunction that he'd just witnessed was commonplace. The kettle clicked off, alerting Giles to the fact that his mind had been wandering and bringing his attention back to the office. He quickly made tea and sat down at the desk that had come with the lease, no doubt because the previous tenant had found it too difficult to move; it was a monstrosity of a thing, far too big for the space it was in. It didn't take him long to lose himself in the small translation job he'd taken on for a private client, going back to the same two books now and again to double check his work. 

At lunchtime, he nipped out long enough to grab a quick sandwich and a pint at the pub that was three doors down from his building. The locals seemed to have got used to him and his quiet ways, no longer attempting to draw him into conversations they were having about local politics or national sport but not exactly giving him the cold shoulder either. 

Today, though, he found himself pulled into a conversation as he stood at the bar, waiting for his change. 

"You been getting these power cuts up your way, mate?" 

London was still a collection of villages, Giles reflected, taking a sip at his bitter. "Yes," he said, giving the elderly man on the bar stool beside him a pleasant smile. "Bit of a nuisance, aren't they?" 

"You know who I blame?" the man said earnestly, leaning forward and giving Giles an emphatic nod. "I blame the government." He tapped a nicotine-stained finger against a beer mat, soggy from a puddle of lager and lime Giles' elbow had already landed in. "Stands to reason, don't it?" 

"In what way exactly?" Giles asked unwisely. A man joined him at the bar, asking for a beer in an accent that held a faint Welsh lilt to it. Giles glanced at him, not recognising him as a regular, and sighed inwardly as he was forced to move a little closer to the old man, whose clothes reeked of pipe smoke. 

The rheumy eyes lit up. "In what way? In what way? Young man \--" Giles swallowed a retort, deciding that to this man he probably did look relatively youthful. "Did you ever stop to think --" 

It took Giles ten minutes to escape, and even then he was saved less by his own ingenuity than the fact that the man had consumed his pint faster than normal due to all his talking and was forced to retreat to the Gents. 

Giles finished his own drink, wrapped up his untouched sandwich in the paper napkin provided and signalled to the barman. "Here: get him in a pint on me and tell him I had to go." 

The barman chuckled. "Thought your eyes were glazing over a bit, but old Charlie was having fun. Not often he gets anyone to listen to him. Made his day." 

Giles smiled uncomfortably. "Does he really think the government's been taken over by robot doubles?" he asked. "Or was he trying to wind me up?" 

"That I can't say, but he's on his way back, so you can ask him yourself." 

"Oh, good Lord --" Giles shoved some coins over the bar hastily and made for the door. His hand was on the door handle when the lights flickered and died. The barman called out to him over the groans from the people scattered around the room. "The pumps won't work now, mate, but I'll change Charlie's pint to a whisky. At least the bottles still work when you tip them up!" 

Giles raised a hand in acknowledgement of the sally and walked out into the pale spring sunshine. At least they still had that to see by. 

Back in his office, he tried to concentrate, but the silence of the building felt wrong, somehow, even with the sunshine filtering in through the two small windows. He was tempted to go to the effort of struggling to open them just to let some fresh air in, but he continued to tell himself that he'd do it in another few minutes, until the minutes had ticked away and it was suddenly after five. 

He'd accomplished little despite the long hours he'd put in, and was suspicious enough that this would continue to be the case that he decided to call it a day and head back to the flat. Perhaps he'd be able to watch some mindless television this evening, if the power came back on, and start fresh tomorrow. 

On the way home, Giles couldn't help but feel that he was being watched. It was absurd, really, the levels of paranoia which one could reach after years of training. Telling himself that it was nothing, he firmly put the thought out of his head and kept walking. It wasn't until he'd crossed the street -- mindful of the earlier mishap, but the lights were working, at that intersection at least -- that he glanced back, and when he did, he saw no one that looked even the slightest bit interested in him. Just dozens of other weary workers headed home after a long day. No one paying him the slightest bit of attention. So when he very nearly bumped into someone walking in the opposite direction, Giles was flustered. "Sorry," he said, and looked into the face of Ethan Rayne. Ethan was wearing dark sunglasses, but there was no question that it was him. Giles would have known him anywhere. There was a brief instant in which they stared at each other, neither of them moving or speaking. Then Ethan stepped past him and disappeared into the crowd. 

Shock held Giles still for a long moment -- too long because when he spun around, searching the crowd, Ethan wasn't in sight. It didn't stop him going after him, though, anger, suspicion, and yes, he admitted it, curiosity, adding urgency to the chase. 

The passers by seemed to be in league with Ethan, swerving in front of Giles, blocking his way. In frustration he abandoned his manners and began to barge through the crowd, searching for a tall, dark-haired man -- _but hadn't there been grey at his temples?_

He caught sight of him when Ethan rounded a corner, and managed to get close enough to risk calling his name. 

"Ethan! Wait!" 

Ethan paused -- Giles was ready to swear to that when he replayed it in his head afterward -- but didn't turn around. Moving quickly, he darted into the traffic and as Giles watched, he leapt onto a bus waiting at the traffic lights, vanishing inside as the lights turned green and the bus lurched off. 

Giles cursed. He could try and follow it; the traffic was busy enough that he could probably catch it up at this time of night, but the odds of finding Ethan inside, sitting quietly and waiting to be found, were too low to make it worth his time. 

He gave up, disappointment making his jaw clench as he strode along, retracing his steps. 

He might have admitted to curiosity, but the flash of pleasure at seeing a familiar face was a different story altogether. That, he was determined to forget. 

Moving slowly now, Giles made his way home, shutting the door to his flat behind him with a sigh of relief when he realised that the power was still on. The digital clock on the desk read what he was sure was the correct time. He was unable to work up the motivation to cook a proper meal despite the fact that he knew he ought to take advantage of being able to use the stove. Instead, he had two cups of tea and a handful of biscuits while he read the newspaper, took a long, hot shower and then settled himself down on the couch to watch television. There was nothing remotely interesting on, but Giles was determined not to waste any more time thinking about Ethan. How long had the man been in London? Had it been chance that they'd run into each other the way they had? Giles would have called the mere thought absurd, knowing Ethan the way he did, but the expression of shock on Ethan's face when he'd seen him, not to mention the way the other man had turned and run off... No, he was most assuredly _not_ thinking about this. Resolutely, Giles went to bed early with a book and ironically enough fell asleep with the lights still on. 

  
* * * * *  


In the morning, Giles turned on his computer before breakfast. He hadn't checked his email for days, what with one thing and another, and he really ought to do so. Not that Willow or Buffy herself wouldn't have phoned in case of a true emergency, but he didn't like to leave them waiting for a response if they contacted him. He very nearly sent what appeared at first glance to be a junk email directly into the trash, but a second glance revealed its true nature. 

> To: rgiles@cow.co.uk
> 
> From: ethanrayne@hotmail.com 
> 
> Hello, old man. 
> 
> I know you must be thinking that I engineered our little meeting on the street yesterday evening, but I assure you that nothing could be further from the truth. I'd no idea you were back in London, I swear it. Not that my assurances mean anything to you, I'm sure. 
> 
> In any case, don't worry. It won't happen again. 
> 
> \- E

It was as if he could hear Ethan saying the words in that drawled voice of his, always hinting at mockery; of self, or listener -- or both. The physical reaction Giles had was strong enough to make him push away from the computer, much as he would've done if it had burst into flames. 

The implications of yesterday's encounter finally hit home and he realised that he'd been deliberately ignoring them, walling them away. This email was the equivalent of a wrecking ball. Ethan was free -- well, yes, not really a surprise, that. Ethan was close \-- how close? Was he still here? 

And Ethan knew how to reach him, in so many different ways. 

Taking control of himself, willing his ragged breathing to regulate, Giles pulled his chair into position again and wrapped his hand around the mouse. He dragged the pointer over, intending to move the message into the trash, attempt to set up some means to block any future messages. 

He couldn't do it. But he couldn't reply, either. Not yet. 

Memories of Ethan, both good and bad, plagued Giles throughout the day as he went about his normal routine to the best of his ability. In some ways, the good memories were more difficult to deal with than the bad. He wasn't sure he wanted to remember the good times; not when it made his current situation -- his current _life_ \-- seem so stark and empty in comparison. 

He especially didn't care to recall the most recent pleasant memory that involved Ethan. A hot mouth sliding over bare skin, hands that knew him much too well touching his body... No. Still, despite Giles' best intentions, at the end of the day he found himself sitting down in front of the computer again and re-reading Ethan's email. He was, in fact, a bit surprised that a second one hadn't followed. The old Ethan would have been driven mad by his lack of response and written repeatedly until he'd managed to annoy a reaction, even an angry reaction, out of him. 

Somehow the thought that Ethan might, for once, have meant exactly what he said -- had not deliberately sought him out, not even known where he was -- stung him. And then he wondered if that was exactly the reaction Ethan had been trying to get and this was another game. 

Oh, bloody hell, this was going to drive him mad trying to work it out! 

Bitterly acknowledging that he was incapable of ignoring Ethan, and not even trying to pretend that he was acting out of caution, he hit 'reply'. 

> To: ethanrayne@hotmail.com
> 
> From: rgiles@cow.co.uk 
> 
> Ethan 
> 
> Forgive me if I find it difficult to believe that anything you do that concerns me is pure chance. 
> 
> Do give me a hint as to what I can expect this time? Or would that spoil the fun? 
> 
> R

He hit 'send' and sat back, releasing a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Goading Ethan might not have been the wisest move, but if it forced him to show his hand... 

Giles opened a bottle of red wine and poured himself a glass, taking it with him to the window and staring out into the gathering dusk. If Ethan was watching him he couldn't see him, but he thought perhaps he'd be able to tell if he were near. 

Draining his glass in a long, reckless swallow, he murmured, "'By the pricking of my thumbs...'" 

Pouring himself another glass, he sat back to wait. 

> To: rgiles@cow.co.uk
> 
> From: ethanrayne@hotmail.com 
> 
> We can't do this. I know the past has been a complicated series of dance steps, but I can't do it again. 
> 
> There's nothing fun about this. 
> 
> Have a good life, Ripper, if you can manage it between assignments and protocol and whatever else the bloody Watchers Council throws in your direction. 
> 
> \- E

> To: ethanrayne@hotmail.com
> 
> From: rgiles@cow.co.uk 
> 
> What the hell do you know about it? About my life? Apart from the fact that you seem to have made it your hobby to end it the last few times we've met. Can you blame me for thinking this is just the start of another of your games? 
> 
> And if it isn't -- but it is. Ethan, with you it's always something. 
> 
> I want to know. Forewarned is forearmed and all that. 
> 
> Or don't you owe me even that much? 
> 
> R

> To: rgiles@cow.co.uk
> 
> From: ethanrayne@hotmail.com 
> 
> I don't think you want to invoke the scale of measuring out what each of us owes the other. I really don't. 
> 
> I didn't know you were here. I've nothing planned, and even if I were to have, it would be nothing to do with you. I'll say it as many times as you like. 
> 
> And I've never tried to end your life. I'll admit to a certain desire to... spice it up a bit, to give you a touch of excitement. Can you really tell me truthfully that having your heart pounding in your chest, feeling that flood of adrenaline through your system, is so terrible? 
> 
> In any case, I'll leave you alone after this, barring the accidental meeting on street corners. 
> 
> I hesitate to point out that you were the one that followed me. That says something, doesn't it? 
> 
> -E

> To: ethanrayne@hotmail.com
> 
> From: rgiles@cow.co.uk 
> 
> I don't think following you counts as anything but understandable caution on my part. I'd rather have you where I can see you, Ethan. 
> 
> And I don't need you to make my life exciting, if that's what you call it. 
> 
> I don't need you at all. 
> 
> R

> To: rgiles@cow.co.uk
> 
> From: ethanrayne@hotmail.com 
> 
> No, you don't need me, do you. Not really. You never did. 
> 
> I'm just looking for a little peace, Rupert. I know that's probably impossible to believe given my past history, but it's true. I'm... well, let's just say I'm paying the price for past transgressions and leave it at that. 
> 
> Good luck out there, old man. 
> 
> \- E

> To: ethanrayne@hotmail.com
> 
> From: rgiles@cow.co.uk 
> 
> And this is what you call not playing games? 
> 
> Ethan, if you were within reach of my hands, I'd -- no. I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of driving me -- once again -- to a physical expression of just how very frustrated you make me feel, even if it's only in words, not deeds. 
> 
> Just tell me what's happening and stop being so bloody cryptic. What transgressions? Against me? And what price? 
> 
> And for you to wish me luck is so very unlike you that I can't help wondering if it is you I'm talking to. 
> 
> Is it? You could be anyone, after all... 
> 
> Care to prove yourself to me? 
> 
> R

And that, little though Giles liked it, ended the brief flurry of messages because Ethan didn't reply, leaving him to wonder if he'd been right and this was some sort of hoax -- but he didn't really think it was. The speed at which he'd become annoyed, irate and finally threatening proved it was Ethan. No one else had ever moved him to such extremes. 

And if, when he went to bed that night, it wasn't the extremes of violence he recalled, but the times when Ethan had been all he wanted, all he desired, with a hunger that in retrospect seemed almost frightening in its intensity -- well, he was falling asleep when he thought it and he couldn't help what he dreamed. 

Giles was distracted the next day. It felt as if his brain was working at half-speed, but he soldiered on with the translation job. He expected it to take another two or three days at most, and he'd promised it by the end of the week. So far, it didn't seem to be anything more than a protection spell, but there was no explaining the types of things people wanted translated, or why, and he rarely tried. 

In the late afternoon, he thought he heard a sound in the hallway outside. He was up in a flash, throwing open the door before he'd even realised that he hoped to catch Ethan spying on him, but there was no one there. He felt foolish and he had to admit, angry with himself for being drawn into another one of Ethan's games. 

He was still angry when he got home, and avoided turning on the computer for as long as possible. When he finally did turn it on, he was holding a glass of whisky that he'd already taken several swallows from. 

> To: rgiles@cow.co.uk
> 
> From: ethanrayne@hotmail.com 
> 
> Of course I can't stay away from you. I never could, could I? Were you always aware of that? I wouldn't blame you for using it to your own advantage, you know. 
> 
> And of course it's me. You don't need me to remind you of things past to reassure you. If I were to, I'd choose all sorts of things that would make you squirm to recall them, wouldn't I, and then you'd just end up angrier than you already are. 
> 
> I know you that well, you see. 
> 
> I'm tempted to suggest a meeting at one of our old haunts, but I know you wouldn't agree, and I wouldn't blame you for that either considering how our last such evening together ended. There, see? Feeling angry? 
> 
> \- E

> To: ethanrayne@hotmail.com
> 
> From: rgiles@cow.co.uk 
> 
> You didn't answer my questions. Any of them. Why? And -- yes, I'd meet with you if that's what it takes to get those answers. 
> 
> Promise you'll tell me what I want to know and I'll meet you. 
> 
> But don't expect it to be as friends. I think we both know how impossible that is after what you did. 
> 
> And yes, I'm still bloody angry. You tried to get me killed at the hands of my own Slayer. Nice one, Ethan. 
> 
> R

> To: rgiles@cow.co.uk
> 
> From: ethanrayne@hotmail.com 
> 
> I'm sure you won't believe me when I say that it wasn't my intention to have your Slayer kill you. She is a feisty little thing though, isn't she? Or should that be 'wasn't she'? 
> 
> I promise I'll tell you what you want to know. And I promise not to expect a hand extended in friendship, if that's what it takes. 
> 
> I'll be at the Fox and Hounds in Victoria Street after 8, if you care to join me. 
> 
> \- E

> To: ethanrayne@hotmail.com
> 
> From: rgiles@cow.co.uk 
> 
> She still is, Ethan. We really do have a lot to catch up on, don't we? 
> 
> Very well. It's probably foolish of me to expect your promises to be kept but I confess I'm curious -- as you know, it's my besetting sin. 
> 
> But I think I'll buy my own drinks this time. 
> 
> R

Giles switched off the computer and stood up, wondering what the hell he was doing. It was already gone six and the pub Ethan had mentioned -- was it wise to let him choose their meeting place? Probably not -- was far enough away that he didn't have much time. 

He'd eaten earlier, forcing down a frozen, microwaved dinner while his attention wandered towards the silently waiting computer. Now he showered and changed as quickly as possible, dressing in jeans and a shirt softened and faded by washing to a blue three shades lighter than its original colour. 

Shrugging on a leather jacket, with inner pockets deep enough to conceal a stake -- compared to Sunnydale, London was remarkably free of vampires, but they were still around -- he left his flat. 

He wanted to get there before Ethan. Wanted to watch him arrive. If he remembered correctly, there was an alley across from the pub's main entrance that would be ideal. 

Of course, Ethan would know that too -- 

Giles bit his lip. God, it was like fighting himself, trying to out-guess, out-wit Ethan. Pointless, and doomed to failure. 

Doomed to failure in more ways than one, he realised when he reached the Tube only to discover that the rolling blackouts had brought the trains to a grinding halt a short while before. It was past the evening commute, so there were fewer people standing about complaining than there might have been, although that might also have something to do with the fact that the power had been going out long enough that people had got used it. He did hear some muttered expressions of irritation, but at that point he was more concerned with how he was going to get halfway across London. 

The first bus he found was full to what he expected was beyond capacity, the second one was either hopelessly late or just didn't exist at all, and he couldn't get a taxi despite his best efforts. By the time he finally got to the pub, he was more than an hour late, and considerably flustered. 

The pub was crowded with people watching the mid-week football game, and it took Giles a good five minutes to ascertain that Ethan wasn't there. He didn't think there was much point, but he pushed his way to the bar and got the busy bartender's attention. "What can I get ya?" the man asked. 

"I'm actually looking for someone," Giles said, raising his voice to be heard over the crowd. "Dark haired man, tall, thin, my age. He's an old friend. I was supposed to meet him here." 

To his surprise, the bartender nodded and turned away, coming back a moment later with a folded up bit of paper that he pressed into Giles' hand. "He said if you came I was to give you this." There was a curious blankness to the man's eyes that vanished as soon as Giles took the note. The bartender shook himself and gave Giles a puzzled smile. "Sorry, mate, didn't catch that?" 

A compulsion spell, Giles thought. Designed to make sure the note wasn't forgotten, thrown away, or read by anyone other than him. How like Ethan to use magic for something so trivial. 

"It's fine. Changed my mind," he said, turning away from the bar. 

"Suit yourself." 

The note as Giles discovered when he read it in the back of a taxi -- suddenly they seemed to be there for the having -- said nothing but, 'Another time?'. Crumpling it up, he shoved it into his pocket and stared out at the busy streets, searching futilely for Ethan's face. 

When he got back, he paid the driver and glanced up at the dark windows of his home. Perhaps a drink wasn't a bad idea, even if he would be drinking alone. He took three steps, heading for his local, and then froze. "I know you're there." 

There was silence for a moment then he heard Ethan's familiar voice say, "Very perceptive." Giles turned, and Ethan stepped out of the shadows on the other side of his building. "You didn't turn up when you said you would," Ethan said, hands in the pockets of his jacket. "That's not like you." 

"Thanks for the trusting faith in my reliability," Giles said a little sourly. "As you can see, I tried. These bloody power cuts \-- " He studied Ethan. "You know where I live and you still picked the Fox and Hounds to meet? You couldn't have found somewhere just a little closer?" 

"It's one place I haven't been to recently," Ethan said as if that explained everything. He was standing quite still, watching Giles just as carefully as Giles was watching him. 

"Well, it's getting late," Giles said. "But as you're here --" He frowned. "Why the sunglasses, Ethan? If they're supposed to make you look inconspicuous, I have to say that's less effective at night." 

Ethan ignored the question and turned his head to look at Giles' building. "You aren't going in?" 

Giles sighed, abandoning his plans to find a quiet corner in a quiet pub. "As keeping you out if you're determined is virtually impossible and I've plenty of whisky, you might as well come up, I suppose." Suspicion roughened his voice. "Or have you already been in?" He took a step towards Ethan. "If you've dared --" 

Ethan took a quick, awkward step back, anxiety flaring from him as obviously as if Giles had been able to smell it, both hands held up in front of him. "I didn't. I swear it." 

Giles took a slow breath. Ethan didn't actually lie all that well \-- not to him anyway, not directly. Half-truths and evasions -- those he was better with. "I believe you," he said, feeling a little ashamed of himself. "Sorry," he added, a little grudgingly. 

Ethan looked at him for a long moment. It was a bit disturbing not to be able to see Ethan's eyes, to read him that way, but then Ethan nodded and shrugged. "Is the offer still open then? Or should we call it a night before there are actual blows?" His tone was light but cautious. 

"It's still open," Giles said, moving towards the entrance. He wasn't sure this was the best idea he'd ever had but his curiosity was rising, overcoming his caution. "And I think I can deal with you without it coming to that." He paused and gave a rueful laugh. "Although our track record isn't good, is it?" 

"Not really, no." Ethan followed slowly and so carefully that Giles realised just then, for the first time, that he was keeping a distance between them. 

He opened his mouth to comment, and then reconsidered. Time enough for that later, when they'd had a drink, achieved some semblance of cordiality. 

By the time they'd reached his door, walking upstairs in a silence that was about as far from relaxed as it was possible to get, Giles had adjusted his ideas to contain an Ethan who wasn't talking in a smooth flow of insinuating chatter, an Ethan who was tense and wary. 

"You're frightened of something, aren't you?" he said when the door had closed behind them, the revelation striking him with too much force for him to be tactful. "Is that what you meant by paying a price?" 

"Did I say that?" Ethan asked wearily, making no motion to take off his jacket. 

"Yes," Giles said bluntly. "Oh, sit down, Ethan. I'll get us a drink..." He walked over to the small collection of bottles he kept on top of a glass-fronted case and picked up the whisky, stooping to get two tumblers from the shelves underneath. "Yes, you did. I thought at the time you were being dramatic as usual but it's not hard to see you've --" He stood facing Ethan who was still standing. "Changed," he finished, holding out a glass. 

"Set it down on the table," Ethan said, gesturing, and at Giles' look, "No, I'm not being dramatic." He waited until Giles had done as he'd asked then picked up the glass and took a swallow of the whisky as if he were grateful for it. "I'm... well, I suppose changed is a good way to put it." Slowly, he removed his sunglasses, tucking them into his jacket pocket and raising eyes that were filled with broken blood vessels to meet Giles'. There were dark circles underneath Ethan's eyes as if he hadn't been sleeping properly, and without the glasses the weight he'd clearly lost since Giles had seen him in Sunnydale was emphasised. 

Giles did his best to keep the shock -- worse yet pity -- he felt from showing on his face. Taking a gulp of whisky, he stepped back, sitting down in a chair, far enough away that Ethan was out of reach, and gesturing to the couch. "I wish you'd sit down," he said quietly. "You're ill then? Have you been to a doctor?" 

The thought that after all they'd been through Ethan might be brought low by something mundane seemed disturbing, even insulting, though that was foolish. They were human. They could hurt. They could bleed. For all Ethan's magic, and Giles' own knowledge, they could die. 

It just didn't seem fitting, somehow. Lord knows, Giles didn't expect to die in bed of old age. 

Ethan laughed, the sound awkward and artificial in the quiet flat. "Doctors can't help me," he said, moving over to the couch and sinking down onto it, sighing. "It's not that sort of illness." 

Giles pursed his lips. "Well that narrows it down." Keeping his voice even, he gave Ethan a pointed stare, not looking away from the damaged eyes. "But not much. So what sort is it?" 

"You were there," Ethan said, giving Giles a moment of confusion before he clarified, "The other day. At the intersection?" 

It took Giles a moment to realise what Ethan meant. "When the lights malfunctioned? What about it?" 

"I was there," Ethan said. "If I hadn't been, it wouldn't have happened. It was my fault, you see." 

Giles felt his pity vanish. " _You_ did that?" He leant forward, feeling a twinge in the shoulder he'd wrenched scrambling clear of the oncoming cars. "I thought you said you weren't trying to kill me! There were other people there, Ethan. A woman -- her baby -- God, I can't believe --" He shook his head. "What the hell is wrong with you?" 

It wasn't entirely a rhetorical question. 

Ethan set his glass down on the table with a click, standing up and turning toward the door. "In your eyes, everything, clearly... I'll go, shall I? Before you get down to the details of my shortcomings." Every line of his body screamed tension, making him look so unlike the Ethan that Giles knew that it was as if there were a complete stranger in the room. 

"I don't think so," Giles said, getting up. He moved quickly around the back of the couch, putting himself between Ethan and the door. "Not before you tell me why you did that." He frowned. "I thought you didn't know I was back? Why were you so quick to attack me?" 

"I didn't even know it was you, not for sure. Not until after, when you... I was so surprised, you see." Ethan spoke quietly, hands at his sides. He looked defeated. "It wasn't an attack. It was an accident." 

"An accident?" Giles repeated. "You turn every light green by accident often, do you? Ethan, that doesn't make sense. You're reckless, but not uncontrolled, not with your magic. And --" He hesitated, unable to sustain his anger in the face of Ethan's subdued demeanour. "Ethan, are you sure it was even you? It could have been a coincidence; these bloody power cuts -- it doesn't have to have been anyone's fault, although you can't blame me for leaping to conclusions." 

"I might as well blame you," Ethan said, edging backward away from Giles. "It was because of you, after all. Because I was so startled. Not that it always happens that way; sometimes there's no explanation for it. But it's me. It's all me." 

"What is?" Giles asked rubbing his hand across his forehead. He was starting to get a headache, and the quiet despair in Ethan's eyes was disturbing to say the least. "Would you please just _tell me,_ so that I can help you?" he finished, his voice rising with his frustration. 

"You can't help me, Ripper. No one can." Ethan wavered on his feet and acting without thought, Giles stretched out his hand to steady him. "No!" Ethan cried, jumping back away from Giles' hand and losing his balance, catching himself against the wall. The ceiling light overhead surged brightly, sending out a shower of sparks that floated down then dissipated. "Don't touch me." 

Giles looked up at the light and then at Ethan, realisation dawning. "You... did you do that?" 

Ethan gave him a look that made him feel stupid and then nodded. "Of course I did. But that's nothing, Rupert. Don't you watch the news? Your old friend's quite the celebrity these days." He straightened up, dusting himself down with unsteady hands. "I even made the lead story the day the power cut meant the Arsenal match got cancelled. Luckily no one knows it's me doing it, or I imagine I'd have been lynched by a crowd of football fans, and that's really not how I plan to leave this life." 

"You?" Giles gaped at him. " _You've_ been causing -- no, that's ridiculous! They've been all over the place; Newcastle, Manchester, Oxford -- " 

"I've had to keep moving," Ethan said. Giles moved towards him and Ethan held up his hand, the momentary flash of his old self-assurance fading. "Promise you won't touch me. I can't take the chance; I don't know what would happen." 

Giles set aside the question of how Ethan was causing nationwide chaos -- although he'd certainly be returning to it -- and concentrated on the more immediate problem. 

"You don't know? Then why are you assuming anything would?" He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans in an attempt to reassure Ethan and gave him a rueful smile. "I'm not used to you being this concerned about my well-being." _Or not wanting me to touch you._

"You saw what happened at that intersection," Ethan said. He seemed to have relaxed a bit, but he also looked utterly exhausted as if he were barely able to continue standing. "That wasn't the first time. I've... hurt people, Rupert." The implication that some of them had been more than just hurt hung heavy in the air. 

"But it's not deliberate?" Giles asked, stressing the word and the distinction he was making. "You don't know why it's happening, apart from the obvious fact that it's related to your emotional state?" Before Ethan could answer, he nodded towards the couch. "Look, sit down again. I promise I won't do anything to make you feel -- threatened." 

He stepped to the side, moving slowly, casually, and walked back to his seat, leaving Ethan with a clear path to the door or the couch. 

Ethan hesitated, swaying slightly then managed to make his way to the couch and collapse down onto it. "It's not always related to my emotional state as you call it." He leant back, letting the cushions support his weight. "Sometimes it just happens. Ever since I got out of that bloody place, it's been totally out of my control." 

"That place? Where -- oh. Oh, God." Giles reached out blindly for his drink on the table beside him, not looking away from Ethan, locating it more by luck than judgment. He raised it to his lips. The sting and burn as he swallowed the contents steadied him enough to continue. "The Initiative, you mean." 

"Where else?" Ethan blinked slowly as if too weary to do anything at more than half speed. "They spent so much time mucking about with me... seeing how much power I could channel... how much they could pull out of me before I passed out. I suppose I should consider myself fortunate that they bothered to revive me the two times they killed me outright. I was still interesting then..." His voice trailed off. 

Giles closed his eyes against the images Ethan's words evoked only to find them waiting for him in the darkness. Splintered pictures of what he'd seen when he'd gone inside the Sunnydale Initiative, and of what Buffy had told him of Oz's rescue, came together to form a whole, leaving him shaken and sickened. White walls and screams echoing off them... 

"They weren't supposed to do that," Giles whispered. "Rehabilitate you -- but it was just a word. I never expected them to do more than kick you out of the country." 

Ethan shrugged. He looked small sitting there on the couch, small and broken. "I suppose they thought they'd have a bit of fun with me first." Glancing up, he met Giles' gaze. "Don't worry, Rupert. I don't blame you. I'd have done the same thing, in your place." He paused. "Well, no, I wouldn't have. But I still don't blame you." 

Guilt made Giles snap back an angry retort. "You'd just tried to kill me! Can we try and remember that as practical jokes go, turning me into a demon on the Hellmouth with a Slayer and those soldiers after me is just a little more serious than a bloody whoopee cushion?" He bit his lip. "Sorry. I'm not doing a very good job of staying calm, am I?" 

"You don't need to," Ethan pointed out, his words slurring the slightest bit. "Everything within a few hundred yards isn't likely to go up in sparks just because you get a bit emotional. Or for no particular reason at all. Is it." It struck Giles that this was one of the worst punishments possible for Ethan. 

"So how I feel doesn't affect you?" Giles asked wryly. "You're not going to respond adversely to what I say or do if I lose my temper? Somehow I doubt that." He linked his hands together in his lap. "What do you think would happen if you touched me, or I you?" 

Ethan perked up a bit at that, his eyes darting to Giles' as if to make sure that it was just a question. He swallowed and looked down. "Ever stuck a fork in an electrical outlet as a boy?" 

"Being blessed with a self-preservation instinct stronger than my curiosity, no, but I get the picture." Giles gave Ethan a puzzled look. "That's quite a weapon. Was that their intent? I can well believe it of them." He added softly, "Even if the cost was leaving you so... isolated." 

"No," Ethan said. "Actually, I don't think that was their intent at all. They just wanted to see what I could do. After they resuscitated me the second time, I think they decided they'd learned what they could from me. I doubt they expected me to last much longer. When coincidence worked in my favor and I shorted out half the complex in the middle of a shift change, I just... walked right out." His expression was strained. "For the first few weeks I kept expecting them to come after me, but I suppose they had more important fish to fry." 

Giles smiled, feeling genuine amusement. "You're a stubborn bastard when you want to be." His smile faded. "Stubborn, and lucky. Ethan -- I can see how your power might flare up if you were scared or startled, but surely if you were expecting -- if it were me --?" 

There was something deeply wrong about Ethan not being able to touch another person. Ethan, whose restless hands had stilled and slowed as they passed over Giles' body with a strange solemnity at times, a bemused wonder. Something so wrong that Giles refused to accept that it was so. He realised that he was edging forward in his seat and frowned, forcing himself to sit back. 

Ethan was shaking his head. "We can't take the chance, can we? You're the only friend I have left -- I'd hate to kill you by mistake." He looked up at Giles. "Or should I say 'former friend'?" There was something hopeful in his voice, but his expression was, Giles thought, carefully schooled to seem resigned. 

"I'm not that fragile," Giles said. "And this isn't something physical; it's magical. It's coming from you, and despite the uses to which you put it, I've never known your magic to be something you couldn't control." He stared directly at Ethan, willing him to believe. "I'm -- not your enemy, Ethan. I should be, but I'm not. And I meant it when I said I wanted to help you, but I can't do anything if you're locked up inside yourself like this." 

"I don't feel locked up," Ethan said. "In fact, I feel as if I'm telling you rather more than I'd planned on sharing." He smiled wryly. "If I start to confess all my sins, do feel free to take extreme measures to shut me up, won't you? I can't imagine what's making me be so frank." 

"You were planning on lying to me?" Giles asked him. He shook his head in resignation. "Why am I not surprised?" 

"I'm not lying now," Ethan told him. "I'm warning you not to come closer. Not to risk yourself. Or, for that matter, me." 

Every time Ethan told him to keep his distance, Giles felt like moving closer, which made absolutely no sense at all if he thought about it and all the sense in the world when he didn't. 

It was one thing to feel guilty and outraged at the way Ethan had been treated; another to put himself at risk just for the sake of satisfying his curiosity. Giles bit down on the inside of his lip, letting the small throb of pain distract him from the increasingly urgent need to cross the room and go to Ethan. 

It didn't help. 

In the space between a breath drawn in and exhaled, Giles gave up struggling. 

He met Ethan's gaze and said softly, "I'm going to come over to you and I'm going to touch you. Tip of my finger against the back of your hand. No more than that. And if anything happens, you've got full permission to blame me." 

Giles stood up and began to move slowly towards Ethan. 

Ethan's tension was palpable, but he remained where he was. Giles could see him trembling as he sat down beside him. "I can't control this," Ethan whispered. "If I could have, I would. Are you sure this is a good idea? Why are you doing this?" 

"No," Giles said honestly. "I'm not sure. But I'm still going to do it." This close he could almost taste the tension, like static in the air on a frosty day. It occurred to him that it might not be entirely his imagination and he hesitated. "I can't explain it very well, but it feels... wrong not being able to touch you. I _want_ to." At this proximity it was verging on a compulsion as if he were hungry and there was food in front of him, as if he were cold and only Ethan could warm him. He wasn't sure he could walk back to his chair without reaching out to touch Ethan just once. 

"Is there any way of getting you to relax?" Giles asked. "Short of pouring the rest of that bottle down you, which I'd rather we didn't as I can't imagine your control would improve if you were blind drunk." 

Swallowing, Ethan shook his head. "No, and it's just going to get worse the longer you put it off, so just do it if you're going to, and get it over with." He shut his eyes, taking a few slow, deep breaths. "Do it." 

Giles found himself smiling again, filled with an odd exhilaration. It wasn't that he didn't think that this was dangerous -- Ethan could, and had, hurt him in the past -- it was just that he didn't care. 

Without giving either of them time to reconsider, he gave the back of Ethan's hand the promised light touch and then, when he felt nothing more than cool skin against his own, he reached out impulsively and cupped Ethan's face, feeling the familiar contours of jaw and bone. 

Ethan drew a startled, shuddering breath, his terribly bloodshot eyes opening and searching out Giles' for reassurance. "I don't want to hurt you," he whispered. "Don't let me." 

Giles kept his hand where it was, absently rubbing his thumb across Ethan's hollow cheek in a gesture -- a caress -- culled from memory. The odd urgency had left him and he felt nothing but contentment. "Don't worry about it." 

Still trembling, Ethan reached out and laid his hand against Giles' chest, so lightly that he was really only touching the fabric of his shirt. 

Giving an encouraging, wordless murmur, Giles brought his free hand up and covered Ethan's, doing no more than that, allowing Ethan to take his time. 

The tension between them was changing, the sense of danger slipping away to be replaced by something equally fraught. Giles was acutely aware of every breath Ethan drew, captivated by the slow drag of Ethan's tongue against his lip as he moistened it, the pulse beating in his throat. 

Ethan had never seemed fragile before, but he did now. That stubborn quality was still there underneath, wrapped around and around like the tendrils of some particularly tenacious plant, but on the surface there was little sign of it. Ethan looked like what he was -- an exhausted, desperate man who'd been alone too long and was clinging to the only hint of familiarity he could find. "Ripper..." It was hardly more than a whisper. 

"Right here. Still not dead," Giles murmured. "Ethan --" He broke off, not sure that talking was such a good idea right now, and curled his fingers around Ethan's, letting his other hand slip around Ethan's shoulders, pulling him into a hug. 

It had been so long since he'd done this and he wondered, with a faint chill, if, without realising it, he'd become as starved for contact as Ethan. He couldn't recall the last time he'd even shaken someone's hand. That made him tighten his hold around Ethan as though he, not the man he held, needed reassurance, needed help. 

Leaning into the embrace, Ethan trembled in his arms. He smelled of leather and something faintly like ozone, and after a moment he shifted, clutching onto Giles tightly in relief. "I don't want to die." 

"You will eventually," Giles said, feeling sleepy as if he'd done something more strenuous than he had. "So will I," he added, feeling the customary burst of surprise at the idea. "But I don't think it's imminent." 

Settling them back against the cushions, with his hand still linked with Ethan's, he sighed and closed his eyes. 

"Rupert?" Ethan sounded hesitant but worried, although he didn't move, continuing to let Giles hold him. "Are you all right?" 

Giles gave that some consideration under the circumstances instead of answering with an automatic 'I'm fine'. "I feel a little tired," he admitted, aware of a deep weariness. "But it's been a stressful day. Running around London looking for you..." He made sure to keep his voice light, not wanting to disturb this truce or balance of sorts that they'd achieved. He was trying not to even think about it because if he did he was sure logic would point out a dozen reasons why he should still be in his chair, or shouting at Ethan, or at the very least, still questioning him. 

But logic was weak in the face of the need to be this close to Ethan. And all he wanted to do was stay like this, with the light \-- too light -- weight of Ethan resting against him as he allowed his eyes to close again. 

"I'd suggest that I go, but that would be uncharacteristically unselfish of me, don't you think?" Ethan murmured after a moment. "And I really don't want to." His hand was still holding Giles' rather tightly. 

Giles let himself relax completely. "Stay," he said through the weariness that was dragging him away from his surroundings and down into sleep. He turned his head, just a little, without opening his eyes, and felt the soft brush of Ethan's hair against his lips. "Stay." 

There was a great deal of time in which Giles dozed, slipping in and out of sleep with Ethan warm against him. At some point, he fell into a deeper sleep, and when he woke, he was alone on the couch in pitch-dark. The flat seemed unnaturally silent, and after a moment, he realised that the power was out. Again. 

"Ethan?" he called, a bit more loudly than he probably needed to. The sleep, no matter how fragmented it had been, seemed to have restored his energy levels and with that had come a clarity of mind that told him in all likelihood Ethan had left. A moment's quiet and then he heard Ethan's voice reply from the kitchen. "In here." 

The relief he felt was disproportionately strong. 

Struggling to his feet and yawning until he felt his jaw crack, Giles headed towards Ethan's voice, his eyes adjusted well enough to the darkness that he didn't trip over anything for a change. 

"Looks like the power's out again," he said, in a lower voice, more suitable for what felt like three or four o'clock in the morning. "The street lights are still on though; is it just us?" 

"I think it's the whole building," Ethan said ruefully, remaining where he was and letting Giles come to him. "I hope you weren't particularly fond of your electric kettle." 

"Devoted," Giles said. "But it had seen better days; don't worry about it." He yawned again. "A cup of tea would've been nice, but given that's off the menu, I can offer you milk, about half a glass of orange juice, if you're lucky, or an unlimited amount of tap water." His own mouth was parched and sticky, and he headed for the sink, finding a glass, rinsed but never put away, on the draining board. 

He didn't fail to notice that Ethan was stepping back out of his way, carefully avoiding coming in contact with him again. "Best not," Ethan said. "When I'm out of balance like this, I'm likely to end up with a scorched tongue for my trouble." 

"What do you mean?" Giles asked turning on the cold tap and letting water splutter noisily into the glass. "And what sparked -- no, sorry, that pun wasn't intentional -- what happened, anyway?" 

"I touched your poor, innocent kettle and sent it to small appliance heaven," Ethan said with a shrug. "If what you're asking is what prompted that to occur this time and not, for example, when I made myself tea yesterday morning, I don't have an answer for that. Although it's been getting worse as times goes by, rather than better." 

Giles drank most of the glass of water and then set it aside. "Tell me more about it," he said. "When it started, anything you can remember that might act as a trigger, anything you've tried to stop it happening -- give me as much information as you can." He shook his head, although he didn't know if Ethan could see him, and walked over to him. "But not now. After we've got some proper sleep, and it's daylight." 

"Careful," Ethan warned, stepping back. "Go on to bed; I'll take the sofa, if you trust me enough to let me spend the rest of the night under your roof." There was something challenging in his tone, but under it all he still sounded bone-tired. 

Giles didn't feel inclined to argue with him -- which had to be a first. The tiredness was seeping back into him and he wanted nothing but sleep, dreamless and deep, if possible. 

"I'll get you a quilt and some pillows," he said, moving past Ethan. "And I'd appreciate it if you were still here when I wake up? I really don't want to spend tomorrow -- today -- chasing after you." 

"I'll still be here," Ethan said quietly, following Giles and watching as he retrieved some spare bed things and put them on the couch. "Good night, Rupert." 

It sounded more like 'thank you' than anything Giles would have expected from Ethan. On that thought, he went off to bed. 

* * * * *

To Ethan's surprise, he actually did sleep. He hadn't thought he would -- he certainly hadn't while Rupert had dozed on the sofa, thinking that it would be just his luck to drop off and torch the entire building in his sleep just when things were starting to look up. Not that he expected Rupert to save him, of course. He'd given up on that idea long ago, and stubbornly tramped down on any tiny flares of hope that tried to make themselves known. He'd been getting far too little sleep for far too long, so somehow he managed to sleep right through RupertÊgetting up and taking a shower. It wasn't until the sound of water running and saucepans on the stovetop in the kitchen filtered through to his brain that Ethan woke, slowly and reluctantly. 

"It won't taste quite right, but here's some tea made with almost-boiling water," Rupert said, appearing in the kitchen doorway. "By the time I've poured it from the saucepan into a jug, and from the jug into the teapot, it's lost that crucial few degrees. Ah well. Better than nothing." 

Ethan didn't want to sit up; he was too comfortable in his nest of quilt and pillows. But he did want the tea, so he forced himself upright, reaching a hand out for the mug Rupert offered him without thinking. Almost too late, he snatched his hand back, but not before knocking it against the mug and sending a splash of hot tea over Rupert's hand and the carpet. 

"Ethan!" Rupert said crossly, shaking his hand to dry it and glaring at him. "Was that really necessary?" He slammed the mug down on the coffee table. 

"Considering what became of your kettle, I'd think you'd be grateful that I'm concerned for your safety," Ethan snapped. "Never mind. I don't want the bloody tea, and I don't need your help." He struggled to his feet, throwing the quilt down onto the sofa with shaking hands and looking around for his shoes. 

He heard Rupert take a deep breath and waited for him to come up with the perfect scathing comment to speed him on his way. It never came. 

"I'd forgotten what a foul mood you wake up in," Rupert said, with a thread of amusement replacing the irritation. "Never were a morning person, were you? Let's try again." With studied politeness he said, "Good morning, Ethan. Did you sleep well?" 

Ethan's own breath was as shaky as his hands, but he stopped what he was doing and forced himself to meet Rupert's eyes. "Let's just say that I slept and leave it at that," he said. "I appreciate the use of your sofa. And your kettle, short though its life turned out to be." He hated that when it came right down to it, he _did_ need Rupert's help, but there was nothing to be done about that. He couldn't bear to be alone any longer, not if Rupert was offering. 

"It's not the Holy Grail, Ethan," Rupert said, rolling his eyes. "Just a kettle. And there was about an inch of scale in the bottom; I could probably do with a new one anyway." 

"So I did you a favor then?" Ethan grinned hopefully, pushing aside his worries and concentrating on the moment. "That's good. I'd hate to be too deeply in your debt." He sat back down and picked up his mug, which was damp on the outside, trying to gauge whether or not the contact with the liquid would earn him a shock. 

"You're not in my debt at all," Rupert answered, going back into the kitchen and coming out with his own mug. "Helping you sort this out is very much in my best interests, unless you're planning to relocate to the Outer Hebrides." He took a sip of his tea and shuddered. "And you knew I'd help you." He gave Ethan a level look. "Didn't you?" 

Ethan sipped at his tea tentatively then relaxed when nothing untoward happened. "No," he said honestly. "If I'd thought you would, I might have gone looking for you. But I'd no idea you were in London or even England. I wasn't lying about that." 

"Then what _were_ your plans?" Rupert asked, moving to the window and staring down into the busy street. "From what I can tell, you've been moving on every time something major happened, but running hasn't helped, has it? If anything, it's probably left you feeling even more hunted. Even though no one's actually after you yet." His mouth twisted in an ironic smile. "'The guilty flee when no man pursueth'. But you're not, Ethan. For once. Don't you think it's time to stop running?" 

Looking down at his hands, Ethan wondered if he should chance admitting the truth and decided that he might as well. There was so little left to lose at this point, and his pride was long gone. "I thought I had," he said. "Stopped running. That's why I came back to London." Perhaps his pride wasn't completely gone, after all because he wasn't quite ready to admit that he'd come back to see some of their old haunts one last time. 

It was bad enough without Ripper knowing that even now he was the only tangible thing Ethan had ever wanted. 

Rupert had turned to look at him, so Ethan tried to explain further. "It was clear I couldn't continue on like this, not for much longer. You've seen what happens when I try to do something as simple as make a cup of tea." 

"And you came back here because it's the closest you've got to home?" Rupert asked. He shook his head. "I understand that, but wouldn't somewhere remote be better? London -- any city, any town \-- they must make your situation worse. Have you tried going to somewhere less, well, saturated with electricity, for want of a better description?" 

"I suppose it's been a bit worse here," Ethan said. He was taking advantage of his current non-reactive state to drink his tea quickly. "Less saturated with electricity? You mean the middle of bloody nowhere. Do I really strike you as the sort of person who longs to get away from it all, to get back to nature?" He laughed at the thought. 

"So you haven't even tried that?" Rupert asked incredulously. "You know you can plunge an area the size of Sunnydale into darkness, you think you can't touch anyone without disastrous consequences, and you head for _London_? Have you quite lost it?" 

Frustrated, Ethan got to his feet, trying not to let his emotions run away with him. "I came here to die," he said, keeping his voice low. "Excuse me if I wasn't quite up to thinking about everyone else's convenience." It was selfish of him, and he knew it, but under the circumstances it had seemed pointless to worry about reforming his character. Not to mention far too late. 

"I didn't -- oh Lord." Rupert looked at him with what seemed to be fond exasperation, although possibly the fondness was a bit of wishful thinking. "Ethan, sod everyone else's convenience -- I'm thinking about what's best for _you_. As I don't have the least interest in watching you mope around, having a drink for old time's sake in every pub we got banned from in our dissolute youth, and unlike you, I'm far from resigned to your supposedly imminent demise, can we please start considering solutions, not suitable epitaphs?" 

"Yes, please," Ethan said, thinking that Rupert knew him too well for comfort. "Unless you're about to suggest something that includes solitary confinement." He'd had far too much of that; just the thought of it made his skin crawl. 

"I think that'd be even worse for you than staying here," Rupert said seriously. "You -- this not touching -- it's not helping you, Ethan." He put down his mug and leant against the wall, arms folded across his chest. "The magic -- it's all building up inside you and these power surges are your way of releasing that, I suppose. It's not really all that surprisingly when you think about it. Magic and electricity do have a number of properties in common. But it's damaging you, physically and emotionally." He straightened and began to walk over to Ethan. "You can't cut yourself off from the world, Ethan, not if you want to stay sane." 

"It's not just that," Ethan said, watching Rupert warily from his spot on the couch. "Well, sometimes it is, but other times -- when I'm actually trying to work magic for example -- it's... I just lose control. The magic takes over and ends up channeling the electrical power right through me. I think." He gave Rupert a sheepish look. "Those are generally the times I lose consciousness and wake up hours later on the floor, so it's hard to know for sure what happens." 

"So you can't do magic?" Rupert said, raising his eyebrows. "That's odd... I'd think that would be a way of releasing the build-up." He paused beside Ethan, sighed faintly and turned away, dragging over a wooden chair and sitting down very carefully out of reach. "Is this all right?" he asked. "Because I'm getting the feeling you don't want to repeat what happened last night." 

"What I don't want a repeat of," Ethan said, "is the part where the thing I touch goes up in a shower of sparks and the smell of burning." He looked at Rupert with what he was sure was a fair amount of longing. "And about the other thing -- I can still do magic. I just can't predict whether or not I'll be able to control what happens afterwards." He felt his expression twist into a sardonic grin. "Chaos personified. Just what I always wanted." 

There was a flash of something far too close to pity in Rupert's eyes, but none in his voice. "Be careful what you wish for... yes." He pursed his lips in thought. "Apart from feeling a little tired afterwards, and that wasn't necessarily connected, touching you didn't hurt me." His mouth curved into a small smile. "Not a spark in sight." 

"That doesn't mean there wouldn't be next time," Ethan pointed out stubbornly. If he was the cause of Rupert being hurt, or worse... he'd never forgive himself. Or Rupert. 

"True, but it's a risk I'm willing to take." Rupert held out his hand, palm up. "Because if I can't touch you, I can't help you. You know that. It limits the healing spells we could try, it keeps you cut off, isolated, which I'm sure is making things worse --" His face looked calm, unworried as far as Ethan could see. "So let's try it again, shall we?" 

Ethan looked at him, aware that saying no to Rupert was, for him, almost as impossible as flying. Trying to keep the surge of fear in check, he nodded and reached out a hand that only shook a little bit, ready to pull it back in an instant if contact resulted in a shock. To his relief, nothing happened but their hands touching each other, Ethan's fingertips sliding over Rupert's warm skin. He shivered, but didn't stop now that he'd started, moving his hand so that his smallest two fingers curled around the edge of Rupert's palm, his thumb curving around on the other side so that he could hold on. He glanced up into Rupert's eyes, aware that his heart was pounding. 

"See?" Rupert said, his voice husky and uneven although his hand was steady. "Nothing happening." His fingers closed around Ethan's hand, clasping it firmly, and he hitched his chair closer so that their linked hands could rest on his knees. 

"Nothing?" Ethan asked. "I must be losing my touch." 

Rupert's hand tightened slightly and he gave Ethan a rather tense smile. "Nothing _bad_ ," he clarified. "And no, you're not." He tilted his head and his smile became just a little challenging. "Am I?" 

There was no way that Ethan was going to admit that as far as he was concerned Rupert would never lose his touch, but he suspected that his eyes gave everything away. Eyes, he reminded himself, that were sunken and bloodshot in a face that was too thin to be anything but pitiable. "You said something about possible solutions?" he said, wishing there were a way to sound something between desperate and utterly detached because he didn't want to seem either if the latter meant that Rupert thought he didn't care at all. He'd have to hope that the fact that he was still holding onto Rupert's hand would be enough. 

"Did I?" Rupert murmured. "Oh -- well that depends on you. Given your earlier reaction, I'm not sure you're going to like what I suggest." 

His upturned hand shifted slightly and Ethan felt warm fingers stroke across his wrist and pause where his pulse was beating hard and fast. There was just the slightest gleam of satisfaction in Rupert's eyes as though his question had been answered after all. 

"You're not going to suggest putting me in a padded room with no access to electricity, are you?" Ethan asked, staying still despite the considerable effort it took. He knew that wasn't what Rupert was suggesting, but the thought of it plagued him so thoroughly that he had to give voice to it. 

"No," Rupert said. "You know I'm not. Weren't you listening to me at all?" He didn't sound irritated despite his words, and the fingers against Ethan's wrist slid upwards under the turned-back cuff of his shirt, brushing lightly against his inner arm. "A retreat. A refuge. Somewhere quiet, and yes, without electricity. Somewhere we won't be interrupted and you won't be worrying about bloody kettles. Well?" 

Ethan was so distracted by Rupert's touch that he had a difficult time remembering what he was responding to for a moment. "Just the two of us?" It sounded... "No. What if something were to go wrong? In the middle of bloody nowhere, with no medical care... it'd be asking for trouble." Putting complete strangers in danger was one thing, but risking Rupert's life wasn't something Ethan was willing to do. 

"Were you always this stubborn?" Rupert asked, drawing his thumbnail over the skin he'd been touching, from the crook of Ethan's elbow to his wrist. "Ethan, you told me that if you stay here, you'll die. I'm not -- for various reasons -- willing to sit by and watch that happen. Now pick a county and I'll find us somewhere to stay. On the coast, do you think? So you don't feel so closed in?" 

"I'm used to feeling closed in," Ethan muttered. On the other hand, the thought of being near the sea was appealing, somehow. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" 

He wanted to be convinced that it would be all right but he found himself a little puzzled by how quickly Rupert had decided to help him. It wasn't that he didn't think Rupert's deplorable habit of saving everything from the world to Green Shield stamps didn't include him, but he'd expected a lecture at the very least. Not to mention his own unexpected honesty the night before. 

"Rupert, old man," he began. "It occurs to me that -" 

"Can we just get to the part where you agree with me that it is because this is wasting time that I don't think we have?" Rupert enquired pointedly. "And given that it's getting late, shall we have breakfast now?" 

The sudden shift to the prosaic was matched by the removal of Rupert's hand as he stood up, clearly considering the discussion \-- such as it was -- over. 

Sullen and a bit overwhelmed, Ethan stayed where he was for a long moment, looking at his empty mug and wondering if he ought to just get up and walk out the front door. But when it came right down to it, Rupert was right about several things. Ethan _was_ lonely, and being so isolated wasn't likely to do anything to improve his situation. Getting away from all sources of electricity was one of the few things he hadn't tried, and one of the few he was unlikely to try on his own. Rupert did, Ethan admitted to himself grudgingly, have a point. 

Abandoning his vague suspicions about the ease with which they'd become the 'Save Ethan' team - and he supposed it could be as simple an explanation as guilt on Rupert's part - he went, mug in hand, and stood in the doorway to the kitchen, where Rupert was contemplating the inside of the refrigerator. "What if there isn't a part where I agree with you that you're right?" Ethan asked, just to see what Rupert would say. 

"I've annoyed you, haven't I?" Rupert said without turning. "Been overbearing and bossy and got you to the point where you'd be willing to die just to piss me off." He straightened, holding an egg carton and some bacon, and gave Ethan what he had to admit was a charming smile, and one he didn't trust a bit. "I'm so sorry, Ethan." The smile vanished and his voice rose. "I'll just be tactful and polite and hope you don't die while you make up your mind about letting me help you, shall I?" He slammed the food down on the counter and glared at Ethan. 

Ethan... well, the only accurate way to put it would be to say he snapped. "Yes," he snarled, stepping further into the kitchen and putting his mug down before he broke it. "That's exactly what you ought to be doing, considering. This isn't about you, Rupert. For once in my bloody life there's something that's not about you, _astonishing_ as that may be to believe." He knew that he should try to calm himself down, to stop the surge that was building inside him, ready to lash out. In a desperate attempt to distract it, he slapped the flat of his hand down on the countertop with all the force he could muster. "I suppose you've conveniently forgotten that the last time I trusted you, you _left_ me. And yet you expect me to blithely go along with whatever scheme you cook up just because you say that you want to _help_ me?" 

There was a part of him that wanted to touch Rupert, to hurt him and show him what it felt like, but he didn't. Wouldn't let himself. Instead, he opened up, sending a powerful psychic blast to within inches of Rupert's face, all the fury and hurt that Rupert had caused him bundled into a neat package of raw emotion that the other man wouldn't be able to deny. 

_Things Rupert had said to him, little things that probably hadn't been meant to hurt as much as they did but which cut Ethan to the quick, lingering for years. Inflections of Rupert's voice Ethan could still remember and reproduce, disdain and disgust laced throughout words that didn't hold nearly as much power without that inflection. The way Rupert had allowed himself to be taunted by Ethan into sudden flares of anger which, while gloriously exciting, hadn't really been meant to goad Rupert to physical violence._

 _Getting back to the flat they'd shared for nearly ten months and finding Rupert's things gone, with no note or explanation of any kind._

_What Ethan had dreamed of doing if he'd ever seen Rupert again. The careful plans he'd hatched during late nights alone in the flat. How he'd hunt down Rupert and make him pay..._

Ethan could see the shock on Rupert's face, and felt a moment of pure, savage satisfaction. Then as Ethan had expected, the use of his magic resulted in an overload that caused the power in the nearest electrical outlet to arc and surge through him, every nerve in his body on fire as the electricity burned its way through his system. He only had a moment in which to hope that his heart didn't stop this time before everything went black. 

* * * * *

Giles couldn't catch Ethan in time; had to watch him crumple and fall, narrowly missing hitting his head on the counter as he slumped backwards, body jerking horribly, giving a scream that cut through his own pain-filled cry and ended only when Ethan's eyes rolled up and he went limp. Giles couldn't catch him because he was dealing with his own physical reaction to what Ethan had just done, a reaction that had sent him stumbling backwards as if the blow had been from a fist and not Ethan's mind. 

He joined Ethan on the floor, going to his knees and doubling over as the seething mass of emotions nearly overwhelmed him. 

He knew that they were exaggerated -- that even at the height of his despair Ethan hadn't felt quite _that_ murderous, quite _that_ betrayed. 

Because if he had, Giles really didn't think Ethan would ever have forgiven him enough to have been in the same room as him, let alone ask for help. 

He tried to crawl to him and managed to make progress only when Ethan lost consciousness and the effects of the spell snapped off abruptly -- God, he hoped he'd just lost consciousness anyway. 

Even without the bombardment of emotions, Giles' head was still throbbing and he was close to throwing up, but he ignored both symptoms and reached Ethan's side, shoving his hand inside Ethan's shirt and searching for a heartbeat. 

For a long moment there was nothing, and he found himself chanting, "Come on, you bugger, come on..." under his breath, feeling a bleak despair, but then he shifted his hand sideways and felt the reassuring beat press briefly against his palm. 

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard before getting to his feet and soaking a tea towel in water. Kneeling down, he slipped his arm under Ethan, cradling his shoulders and lifting him slightly, and began to sponge away the blood dripping steadily from Ethan's nose. 

This close, in daylight, there was nothing to hide the changes in Ethan, and Giles stared down at his gaunt, exhausted face, robbed of any animation now, and stopped doubting that Ethan was close to dying. 

Ethan's eyes opened, slowly, reluctantly and Giles said in a voice he barely recognised, "If you _ever_ do that again, Ethan, I'll --" Ethan blinked up at him as if he was trying to work out what had happened, and why he was on the floor, but didn't speak. Giles leant back against the cupboard and sighed, feeling the fury drain away. "Please don't," he said. "Just -- don't." 

Shifting position so that his legs were in front of him, he pulled Ethan closer, so that his head and shoulders were supported against his lap, and carried on cleaning his face. 

For too long, Ethan lay there allowing it, occasionally opening his eyes before closing them again. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. "Are you hurt?" 

"No." It was a lie, but not that much of one. "What about you? Do you need a doctor?" 

Ethan opened his eyes again. It looked as if he was having a hard time focusing them. "Wouldn't help," he said. "Give me a minute?" 

Giles nodded, not bothering to suggest that he help Ethan to the couch. The kitchen floor wasn't all that comfortable, but Ethan didn't look in a fit state to be moved. A silence fell, strangely comfortable under the circumstances, and without thinking too much about it, Giles slipped one hand into Ethan's where it lay splayed out across his chest, and with his other smoothed Ethan's hair back off his forehead, repeating the slow, gentle movement when Ethan sighed, closed his eyes, and relaxed. 

"Don't worry," Ethan said. "Safe for a good couple of hours now, if past events are any indication." He looked up at Giles and offered a crooked smile. "I'd forgotten what a nice pillow you make." 

"A few hours..." Giles repeated. "How soon will you be fit to travel?" He met Ethan's gaze and said softly, "You're not going to be able to stop me helping you, Ethan. No matter what you do." A bit more shakily than he would have liked, he asked, "What the bloody hell _was_ that?" 

Ethan sighed. "Nice little trick I picked up at the Initiative. I'm not sure where it came from, exactly. Just... one day, there it was, offering up its meagre ability to pay my captors back for a tiny portion of what they'd put me through. I certainly wasn't about to refuse the opportunity." 

Giles brushed the back of his hand against Ethan's face and couldn't stop himself asking, "Did you -- do you really feel that way? Still? Hate me that much?" 

Ethan shook his head slightly. "I don't hate you, Ripper." It seemed completely sincere, and he turned his hand under Giles' where they rested on his chest and held on. "I won't deny that there've been moments when I have --rather long moments, at times \-- but I don't really. Not deep down." 

Giles sighed. "It's been easy to hate you sometimes, Ethan. Tempting, even. But deep down? No. I just -- I can't." He felt his lips quirk in a small smile. "But if you want me to stop trying, can I suggest you find another way of telling me to back off? That wasn't very pleasant at all, even if I did ask for it." 

His expression hardened for a moment then Ethan sighed again and gave Giles' hand a squeeze. "I'll try. I don't, even if all past behaviour points to the contrary, want you to hate me." His eyes went worried. "There, see? If you want to get me to agree to a round of true confessions, all you have to do is wait until I'm half dead with electrical shock. Apparently I'll say anything." 

Giles glanced down at their linked hands which told him more than Ethan's words. "I don't even have that excuse," he murmured. 

"Clearly, we should quit while we're ahead," Ethan said, with a hint of his familiar cocky grin. But he did start to struggle to a sitting position, which he managed to achieve with Giles' help, although he slumped against the cupboard beside him and ran a tired hand over his face. "What now?" 

"We should eat something..." Giles said reluctantly. He felt both hungry and nauseous, which wasn't an ideal combination. "Maybe later, though." He turned his head towards Ethan. "Will you let me find somewhere for us to go?" 

He kept his voice undemanding with an effort, still cursing himself for forgetting how badly Ethan reacted to being pushed around. Even when it was with all good intentions. He'd been so horrified by the thought of the danger Ethan posed that he'd reacted instinctively with the plan to get Ethan anywhere as long as it was away from people. 

But not away from him. Somehow, despite what had just happened, Giles still didn't feel that he was at risk. That belief was worrying in some ways, even inexplicable given that Ethan had every reason to hate him, but he couldn't seem to shake himself free of it. 

Ethan nodded, wiping his upper lip and looking at his fingers as if inspecting them for blood. "Actually, if you can spare the hot water, I'd love a quick shower. This window of time is the only one in which it's really safe for me to take one." He gave Giles an appraising look. "I promise I'll do my best not to think of you when I'm touching my wet, naked body." 

Giles stood up without answering and then reached down, taking a fistful of Ethan's shirt, minus some buttons now. Bracing himself with a hand on the counter, he hauled Ethan up to his feet and kissed him without letting himself think about the consequences, a brief, hard kiss that he ended before Ethan had time to respond. "Good luck with that," he said pleasantly. 

"Bastard," Ethan muttered, but there was a hint of a smile as he turned away and disappeared into the bathroom, and after a minute or so Giles heard the shower start up. 

Left alone, Giles went to work, dragging out a battered road atlas and trying to find somewhere that looked close enough to reach in a few hours -- he'd have to ask Ethan how he'd been managing to travel; he didn't much like the idea of the electrics in the car he was driving shorting out while they were on the motorway -- and isolated. The difficulty was that these days no one was likely to be renting cottages that didn't come equipped with all sorts of modern conveniences. 

Picking up the phone and the Yellow Pages, he made a few enquiries and got nowhere on the cottage front, although he arranged for a rental car to be sent over from a company he'd used before. The sound of the water cut off and he bit his lip. He really wanted to get this sorted out before Ethan had second thoughts. A vague memory of a rather boring colleague surfaced -- Dave Jackson at the Council, whose idea of fun was a weekend spent in a small boat, out at sea, fishing for whatever he could catch, and turning up on Monday with decidedly smelly packages of mackerel for people who didn't have the heart to tell him to stop. Dave, who owned a small cottage right by the sea that he was always planning to do up, but never did because that would mean missing the chance to fish. 

By the time Ethan emerged, looking tired still, but far better than he had half an hour ago, Giles had arranged to rent the cottage \-- Dave had been bemused that anyone would want to pay to sleep in what seemed to be one step up from a cardboard box, but quite happy about the prospect of the hundred pounds Giles had promised him. 

"You know it's just a wood stove, right?" he'd said. "You'll need candles... calor gas bottle, no, hang on, there should be a spare one in the cupboard under the sink... there's no hot water... well, there's a shower, but I've tried washing dishes in it, and it doesn't work..." 

"That's perfect, Dave. Just want to get back to basics. What about collecting the key?" 

Dave had snorted. "It's in a can under the front step. Never had anyone find it yet and there's nothing to steal if they did. Help yourself, Rupert." He sighed. "Won't be able to go down for at least another three weeks. Pity that..." 

"Yes," Giles had said insincerely. "Now, tell me how to get there..." 

Now, he smiled at Ethan. "Found a place. It's about 90 minutes away, not far from Rye. I'll need to go by my office once they bring the rental car over, and pick up some books that might be useful." He remembered that he was still in the middle of a translation job and added, "And a commission I'm working on; I'll have to take that with me. We'll need to get some food, I suppose, and you'll want to pack..." 

"Not to mention get into some clean clothes," Ethan said, looking down at what he was wearing with an expression of distaste. "I could go off and collect some things, meet you back here in an hour or so? Unless you'd rather I meet you at your office." 

"I'd rather you didn't go anywhere without me," Giles said bluntly before he realised how distrustful that sounded. Something in him didn't like the idea of them being split up for some reason. He tried to soften it. "You still don't look well. Doesn't it make more sense to let me drive you to your digs? What part of town are you in?" 

"Brixton," Ethan said. "But I can get my things on my own, truly. You can trust me." 

"I know that," Giles said quickly. "But it's not a matter of trusting you -- it's just faster if we stick together, especially if you say we've only got a few hours." He studied Ethan's wan face and sighed. "I'm not letting you deal with getting over to Brixton and back, Ethan. Not when you're barely able to stand. You'll simply have to put up with being coddled by me for a bit, no matter how much you hate it. Serve you right for scaring me half to death just now." 

The expression on Ethan's face was difficult to read, but he nodded, seeming willing to concentrate on practical matters for the moment. "Did you say something about breakfast?" he asked hopefully. "Is there still time, before they bring the car?" 

"For a fry-up?" Giles shrugged. "I don't see why not. Do you still drench your eggs in brown sauce? Because I've only got ketchup." 

"I can live without brown sauce," Ethan said. 

The twenty minutes or so that it took to fry up some rashers and eggs and make toast was well worth it to see the blissful look on Ethan's face when he put the first bite into his mouth. He sighed with something that seemed very close to pure pleasure and chewed with his eyes closed. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to Giles that Ethan ate every morsel on his plate and even stole a piece of toast from Giles' with a not particularly apologetic grin. 

* * * * *

By the time they got to Giles' office, their final stop before the run to the coast, they'd already used up two hours. Ethan's place had turned out to be a room in a squat, the house so derelict that Giles had agreed to stay in the car without argument when told flatly that Ethan didn't need any help, thinking that if he didn't, the car wasn't likely to still be there when they came out. 

Ethan had emerged in less than ten minutes, throwing a battered holdall onto the back seat. He stayed in the car while Giles shopped, staring moodily out of the window at the less-than-enthralling sights of Tesco's car park, only perking up when Giles tossed a handful of assorted chocolate bars in his lap as he got back in the car. 

"Thought you might still be hungry." 

Ethan didn't do more than nod by way of a 'thank you', but he'd eaten two by the time they got to Giles' office and he followed Giles up the stairs to the small room, glancing around curiously and looking more alert. 

The answer phone was blinking, so Giles pushed the play button and listened as he began to collect a pile of books and papers that he'd need. 

"Hello, this is Carlton; just checking in on the status of the work you're doing for me. I don't think I need to remind you that it's imperative I get that translation by Friday. If for any reason you're not going to be able to deliver, I need to know that as soon as possible. If I don't hear from you, I'll assume everything's going according to schedule." 

"What a charmer," Ethan said, half sitting on the edge of the desk. 

"He's not usually quite that brusque," Giles said, frowning. "And I really don't know what's so vital about it, but it shouldn't be a problem to finish it by Friday. Dave's cottage is a mile from a village and there's bound to be somewhere I can fax it to him." He scooped all the relevant paperwork into his briefcase and then nodded towards the bookcases around the room. "Help me sort out some texts that might be useful, will you? There's an empty box in the corner." 

Ethan did as asked without comment, going over and sitting on the floor in front of one of the bookcases and beginning to look over them. It wasn't until several minutes had passed in silence that Giles looked up to check on him, only to discover that Ethan was clearly lost in the book he'd opened, staring at the pages with a rapt sort of attention. Giles cleared his throat and Ethan glanced up guiltily, quickly putting the book into the empty box and moving on. 

Giles thought of the bag in the car and realised that it probably held everything Ethan possessed, and that it wasn't big enough to hold many -- or any -- books. He winced. Ethan had once owned some books the Council would have given their collective eye teeth to have in their possession; he guessed they'd probably been sold over the years, or lost, and it was clear Ethan didn't have much more than the clothes on his back now. Giles contemplated some of the ways Ethan used to use to acquire cash and decided not to ask him how he'd been feeding himself and paying his rent. 

When they'd half-filled the box, Giles picked it up, grunting slightly at the weight, and let Ethan take the briefcase as they headed down to the car. He was too occupied with keeping the box from tilting as he fumbled for the keys in his pocket to look around, but he felt the prickle of awareness that told him someone was watching them. 

When he'd closed the boot, he glanced up and down the street, but as far as he could tell, no one was paying them any attention. Ethan had already got in, folding his arms and hunching over slightly so that he wasn't in contact with the frame of the car, looking tense again. 

Giles didn't waste any more time. Passing Ethan the scrawled directions, he started the car and pulled out into the late-morning traffic. 

He didn't need help getting out of London proper, which left Ethan with nothing to do but play passenger in the seat beside him. Ethan was not good at having nothing to do, although it was clear from how still he was sitting as Giles drove that he'd got better at it in the past years. Or perhaps he was just too tired to fidget. 

Ethan sat forward slightly and looked into the side view mirror. "Nice neighbourhood," he said,. 

"Better than where you were staying, you mean?" Giles asked, not bothering to pretend he didn't know what Ethan was getting at. "Well, yes." They pulled up at a roundabout and he nodded at a small, neat garden in front of a terraced house. "But you know, I think I'd pick the squat over a place with that many garden gnomes." He shuddered. "They give me the creeps." 

"They are rather... domestic." Ethan said the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. He looked in the mirror again then sat back in his seat, still being careful to keep himself within what seemed to be a small amount of space. He fell silent, and the next time Giles glanced over at him, his eyes were closed, his head tipped back slightly. He looked peaceful. 

Giles spent a moment worrying that if he slept Ethan might lose control -- most of the blackouts had been at night, after all, and he made a note of that as something that might be useful to investigate -- but he didn't have the heart to wake him. 

He drove out of the city, glancing over at Ethan every now and then when he was forced to stop for lights, or in traffic, but not letting his gaze linger. 

With Ethan this vulnerable it seemed like an intrusion somehow. 

* * * * *

Ethan woke some time later when his hand slipped down off his lap and fell between the passenger seat and the car door. Startled, he snapped awake, pulling his hand back up onto his thigh. "You shouldn't have let me sleep," he told Rupert angrily, feeling his heart racing. 

"You didn't tell me that," Rupert said calmly, completing the turn into a quiet country lane that had woken Ethan up. "And it's only been about four hours since the last incident after all." He shrugged, giving Ethan a glance that seemed friendly enough. "But we're almost there so it's as well you're awake. I could do with your help navigating. We're deep into directions of the 'turn left at the red barn a mile after the field with the cows in it' variety, and I have a feeling we might miss a turning." He peered out at what seemed to be a lot of identical, flat, green fields. "Or possibly we already have." 

It always made Ethan feel inexplicably irritated when Rupert responded to bad behaviour by acting calm and reasonable. "Where are we?" he asked, finding the piece of paper with the directions written on it. "Or is that the problem?" 

"We definitely turned off the B3043 or whatever it was," Rupert muttered, slowing down to give a weathered signpost a hopeful look. "Does it mention anywhere called Petersham? That's a mile away apparently, over to the right. Dave kept correcting himself and I ended up just scribbling down anything that sounded useful. I think he knows the way so well he assumes the rest of the world does too." 

Over the curve of a hill off in front of them, Ethan thought he caught a glimpse of the sea. "Turn left here," he said, frowning over the hastily written instructions. "That should put us on the right road. I think. Then we're looking for Ledham Lane." Within a few minutes, they had proof that his guess had been correct, and Rupert turned the car onto a road that appeared to be made of nothing but small rocks, with the occasional speck of dirt thrown in for good measure. "We really are miles from civilisation." 

"Townie," Rupert said. "And that's the whole point, remember." The car jolted over a rather large rock and he grimaced. "No wonder Dave drives that battered old Jeep. We'll be lucky if we get there without losing the exhaust." 

"At least it's not your car." Ethan was grateful for any number of things at that moment, including the fact that, so far, he hadn't done anything to damage the spotless little rental. He'd hitched rides on a few occasions only to have the cars die inexplicably, once when they'd been doing eighty on the M4. He and the two young men that had picked him up had nearly been killed before the driver had managed to wrestle the rapidly slowing vehicle to the side of the road.Ê "Oh, there. Is that it?" He pointed to a small, rather ramshackle looking shack with the sea behind it. "Please tell me that's not it." 

"That's not it," Rupert said obediently. He gave Ethan a quick grin. "But I'm afraid it is, you know. Dave brought in some photographs once, and it looks depressingly familiar." He gestured towards the edge of the cliff -- rather too close to the cottage, in Ethan's opinion. "But you have to admit it's a glorious view." 

The car pulled up in front of the small building and Rupert switched off the engine. The sound of the sea rose to meet them, loud against the surrounding silence. 

"I think I prefer very tall buildings and unnaturally bright neon lights," Ethan said, getting out of the car carefully and reaching into the back seat for his bag. He wasn't quite ready to admit that he'd put up with this place if it meant getting a handle on his magical problem, not to mention if it meant being with Rupert. But then, he didn't need to admit it, did he. His presence was proof enough. 

The smell of salt in the air was very strong, and Ethan looked at the house -- if one could call it that -- with displeasure. Years of exposure had stripped most of the paint from the outside, and one of the front windows looked askew. 

"Oh, look," he said. "Perhaps someone's broken in and stolen everything. We'll have to find the nearest B&B instead." He gave Rupert, who was taking bags from the boot, a hopeful glance. 

Rupert snorted. "From what Dave says, 'everything' consists of a table, two chairs, a couch with a mouse nest in it and a bed. I think stealing everything would actually improve it." 

"You do take me to all the best places," Ethan said. He went over and took one of the bags from Rupert by way of apology. 

They made their way into the cottage, Rupert unlocking the front door with a key that had been hidden underneath a rusted tin under the front steps. Ethan felt automatically along the wall just inside the door for a light switch, not remembering until he found nothing that there was no electricity. 

This was going to be _so_ much fun. 

"Did you buy candles?" Ethan asked. "Or are there lanterns?" 

"I did buy candles," Rupert told him, "and there are oil lamps too." He dumped the bags he was carrying on the wooden table in the middle of the single room and looked around dubiously. "It won't be dark for a while anyway. Plenty of time to get settled in." 

He seemed to be rather more subdued now he'd seen the place, which, perversely, cheered Ethan up. 

Leaving the bag of food he'd been carrying next to the ones Rupert had set down, Ethan moved over to the bed that was against the far wall, noting that the only interior door in the cottage must lead to the bathroom. "All the comforts of home," he said. "You do realise there's only one bed?" 

Rupert glanced around, taking in the bare surroundings. "You're forgetting the couch," he said, walking over to it and giving it a gingerly poke. He wrinkled his nose at the resulting puff of mildew-scented dust. "Let's keep on forgetting it, shall we? It's a double bed, Ethan, and I packed some old sleeping bags. I think we'll manage to share it without incident, don't you?" 

"Well, _that's_ a depressing thought," Ethan said, sitting down on the bed. "I know I'm a shadow of my former self, but I shouldn't like to think you'd need the Boy Scouts' equivalent of a chastity belt to protect your virtue." He couldn't help but remember the earlier, rather bruising kiss in Rupert's kitchen. 

Rupert arched his eyebrow. "I don't recall you having problems pulling down zips in the past, Ethan, so it wouldn't be much of a protection, now would it?" Ethan got a slow, tight-lipped smile. "And possibly we're defining 'incident' differently?" 

"Not if you're talking about sleeping bags." Ethan surveyed the bed glumly. "Although on the other hand we'd be less likely to catch some nasty disease. When do you think these sheets were last washed?" He certainly wasn't overly fastidious, but even he had his limits. 

"I don't know," Rupert said, giving them an indifferent glance. "Probably never. I'm not planning to sleep on them, so it doesn't matter. Strip them off and I'll go and bring in something a little less redolent of fish." 

He went back out to the car, returning with an armload of what proved to be the quilt and pillows Ethan had used the night before and two -- unzipped - sleeping bags. 

In the meantime, Ethan had taken off the sheets and for lack of anywhere better to put them, shoved them under the bed. The mattress seemed to be in surprisingly good condition, at least, and as Ethan and Rupert worked together to spread out the sleeping bags and quilt, Ethan couldn't help but feel a sort of nervous anticipation. "There will be heat, won't there?" he asked, rubbing his hands together and watching Rupert out of the corner of his eye. 

"And what am I supposed to say to that?" Rupert asked, sounding more amused than anything. "Point to the wood stove and the logs piled up beside it, which you can hardly have failed to notice, or remind you that when we've shared a bed before you've never complained about feeling cold?" 

Ethan met Rupert's gaze directly. "We never did have a problem generating heat, did we." 

"You know we didn't," Rupert replied, the amusement leaving his voice. "But if you're asking if there's anything left but ashes, I don't know." He smoothed his hand over the covers, adjusting them with unnecessary precision, and then sat down heavily on the bed. "You never stay, Ethan. You come back into my life, disrupt it, and leave, and I've no reason to think this is going to be any different." He turned his head and Ethan saw the conflict on his face. "I can play this game, I can trade innuendo-laded quips with you and I think we both know how that'll end -- and I'm not going to pretend I don't want that because I always want you. That never changes. But afterwards? I just don't know." 

It took a great deal of self-control not to flare into anger. Or perhaps, Ethan thought, he was just too pleased that Rupert had admitted that he wanted him -- that he _always_ wanted him. He sat down on the bed again, careful that there was some space between them. "I wasn't the one who left the first time," he pointed out. "That was you." 

"You know why I did. Why I had to." Rupert shook his head. "We can't do this. Can't drag up something from, Christ, nearly thirty years ago and argue over it again. It's pointless." He placed his hand on the bed, his spread fingers a bare inch away from Ethan's hand. "Were you glad I could touch you without being hurt, Ethan? Or does it gall you to realise what it means that I can? How connected we still are? I couldn't help touching you last night, do you know that? I felt... compelled to do it. To go to you. On some level, we're still linked." 

Ethan's chest felt tight. "Of course I was glad," he said quietly. "I knew how strong the connection was. Is. I just didn't realise it went both ways." That was the sort of thing that he shouldn't admit, he knew; this conversation was rapidly falling into dangerous territory. Better to concentrate on the concrete and not muddy the waters with emotion. "There's no guarantee that I can't hurt you, you know, just because we've touched a few times and you've walked away from it unscathed." 

"That's certainly a risk, but it doesn't seem to be bothering you much as you're doing your best to make sure I can't think about anything _but_ touching you," Rupert snapped. "Or am I supposed to not react to what you're saying? Sorry, but I'm finding that a little difficult given the circumstances." 

"No," Ethan said, standing up, deliberately disengaging from the situation. "No, you're right." Clearly the hope that this would be anything more than a brief exercise was nothing but a pipe dream. He needed to get that through his head now. "We'll just focus on the problem, shall we? Not get personal?" There was no possible way he'd manage that, but he could pretend, certainly. 

"I think I just made it rather embarrassingly clear that isn't possible, not for me," Rupert said tiredly. "And if you can think of a way we can do any sort of cleansing or healing rituals without it getting personal, I'll be amazed." He stood up. "Speaking of which, the books and my case are still in the car. I'll bring them in." 

"All right." Ethan didn't argue. 

While Rupert went out to the car, Ethan went over and looked through the bags of food. There was no refrigerator, of course, so nothing that strictly needed to be put away, and he wasn't sure there was any point in putting things in the few open cupboards above the small gas stove, but he began to do it anyway. He was too tired to be hungry despite his long nap in the car or to look up when he heard Rupert come back in and shut the door. 

All he wanted to do, really, was to lie down and close his eyes, but he said, "Just tell me what you want me to do, Ripper." 

He heard Rupert approach and then a hand reached over his shoulder and took a can of baked beans out of his hand while Rupert's other hand rested briefly against his shoulder. "You look as if you're about to collapse, Ethan." Rupert's voice sounded softer now, almost regretful. "Go and rest. I'll make us a sandwich or something and boil up a kettle on the primus. Or would you rather have a whisky? I brought along the bottle we were drinking last night." 

"I think whisky's more likely to lead to me saying things I shouldn't," Ethan said. He didn't want to go even as far as the bed, so he sat on one of the hard wooden chairs at the dining table and watched as Rupert got the stove started. 

"Why do you think there's anything you shouldn't say to me?" Rupert asked, sounding genuinely puzzled. "It's not that I think we know everything there is to know about each other, but you're hardly likely to shock me. And if you mean you'd be frank about my shortcomings, well, you do that when you're sober." He filled the kettle and dropped it on the small blue flames flickering around the gas ring. 

"Please tell me I'm not the only one paying attention to this conversation," Ethan said. "Because if I am, that can't bode well. I may be too tired to make sense of any of it." He was sure Rupert had complained about Ethan saying things that made him want to touch him, and weary as he was, he couldn't help but think that in his right mind he'd be trying to work out how to say more of them, rather than less. 

There was a pause, and he could've sworn Rupert's lips were moving slightly as if he were replaying the conversation. Then he saw understanding dawn. "Oh. You'd be saying -- right." He came and sat opposite Ethan, pulling his chair in and resting his linked hands on the table. "I don't exactly object to you saying things that leave me wanting to -- leave me wanting you. It's just when you say them and then point out that if I touch you I could end up flying across the room, I'm left feeling rather... frustrated?" Rupert shrugged, looking more than a little uncomfortable. "Is that more comprehensible?" 

It hadn't been incomprehensible before. "That's why I didn't want the whisky," Ethan said, looking at the way Rupert's hands fit together. "You're trying to help me -- I'm still not quite sure why -- and the last thing a decent person would want is to make things more difficult for you." 

"It always used to be your favourite hobby," Rupert said with a reminiscent smile on his face. "And you must be feeling tired if you're happy to describe yourself as a decent person." He lifted his hand to scratch at his chin, where the skin was starting to darken with emergent stubble. "I can think of several excellent reasons why I should be helping you -- noble ones, too -- but when it all comes down to it, I'm doing it out of selfishness. I don't want you to die, you see. I'd survive, I suppose, but I don't think I'd ever be perfectly happy again." 

"I didn't say I was a decent person," Ethan said. He wasn't ready to think of himself that way, and didn't think he ever would be. He didn't want to care what other people thought or wanted; it was so much easier not to. "But I don't want to die." 

Rupert's lips twisted in what might have passed for a smile. "Finally, we're in agreement on something." He turned his head. "Kettle's boiling. Sure you want tea, not whisky?" 

Ethan nodded, propping his chin on his hand and watching as Rupert made the tea. God, he was so tired. "Thanks," he said, when Rupert set a slightly chipped mug and a sandwich down in front of him. 

"Try and eat something," Rupert told him, "but don't feel you have to stay awake on my account. I'm going to just finish off a bit of work on that translation I told you I was doing, and then see what I can come up with in the way of damping down what's happening to you; getting it under control a little. You'll have to tell me what you've already tried, so I don't waste time going over ground you've already covered." He reached across the table and Ethan watched through a haze of tiredness as Rupert's fingers brushed against his, lightly, but not tentatively, testing his reaction. "It's been quite a long time since anything happened; is this -- do you think it's helping being here? Or is it too soon to tell?" 

"I think I'm too tired to tell," Ethan said. "I don't think it's just the electricity that's the problem -- the magic's out of control, and somehow something they did made it so that my system accepts power from places it shouldn't. Maybe." He'd done a lot of thinking about it, but in the end grown unconvinced that knowing what caused the problem would enable him to solve it. Taking a sip of the hot tea, Ethan picked up his sandwich, determined to eat if he could manage it. 

"From mundane sources, not just mystical..." Rupert sounded thoughtful as if that had triggered a line of thought, his attention turning inward as though he were scanning a mental index, searching for what he needed. "Yes. There's always some blending of the two of course, but they've made it so that, for you, it's a case of no barriers at all. And I'd imagine it's easier to reach for what's closest, most prevalent, which is why there's a possibility it will help you being here." He took a bite of his sandwich and washed it down with some tea. "Tomorrow, when you're rested, perhaps you could try doing a very small spell and see what happens." 

Chewing seemed much more difficult than it should have been, but Ethan continued doggedly. "All right," he agreed, swallowing past the lump in his throat. He might have agreed to anything at that point. At least the tea went down easily. 

"Ethan?" He glanced up. Rupert was studying him, his forehead creased in a concerned frown. "Why don't you just go to bed?" he suggested. "I think sleeping would do you more good than eating at this point." 

"Are you sure?" Ethan shook his head then pushed himself to his feet. "Let's just pretend I didn't say that." He realised he was still wearing his jacket as he went over and sat down on the side of the bed, bending down to untie his shoes. 

Rupert appeared in front of him as he was working on a knot that was defeating his fatigue-clumsy fingers, kneeling down and pushing Ethan's hands away, taking over the job of dealing with the shoe laces and tugging off his shoes. 

"You'll be more comfortable without your jacket," Rupert said, getting to his feet. "But you'd better keep your shirt on until I get the fire going; it feels damp in here." 

Ethan's eyelids were heavy and his muscles ached as he slid his arms out of the jacket and let it drop to the floor beside the bed. He didn't care about his shirt one way or the other. Lying down, he pressed his face into the pillowcase, inhaling Rupert's scent, clean and comforting, and closed his eyes. 

He listened as Rupert piled logs into the fireplace and smelled the smoke as the fire was lit. The crackle of the flames and the soft hush as the heat drove the damp from the logs followed him into sleep. 

The problem with going to bed before the sun had set was that one tended to wake up in the middle of the night. Ethan found himself stirring from a sleep so deep his dreams had been left behind and feeling an instant of panic because there was someone beside him, which, these days, at least, was unexpected enough to be startling. 

"Sorry," Rupert whispered, settling down under the covers. "I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep." 

Ethan's heart didn't seem willing to be reassured -- he could feel it pounding in his chest as he tried to will himself back to a state of calm. He slid a hand toward Rupert unthinkingly, but realised what he was about to do before actually making contact. "What time is it?" he asked, his voice rough with sleep. 

"About one," Rupert said, rubbing his hand over his eyes, keeping his voice low. "I've made some progress, but it got to the point where the words stopped making sense and so I gave in." Before Ethan could stop him, Rupert reached out his hand and Ethan felt it warm against his shoulder through the shirt he was wearing. "You're shaking. Are you cold? Ethan?" 

He swallowed, finding it difficult to answer. "I must have been dreaming," he lied. He hoped Rupert wouldn't take his hand away. 

He didn't. In fact, he shifted closer, rubbing his hand reassuringly down Ethan's arm. From what Ethan could see in the faint light thrown out from the dying fire, Rupert had stripped down to a T shirt and presumably, shorts. "You're awake now," Rupert said. "Do you want anything? Are you hungry?" 

Ethan shook his head. He moved a bit closer, studying Rupert's face in the dim light. They were both older, and looked it, but Rupert seemed to be aging particularly well, the lines around his eyes etched there as if by an artist's hand. Ethan knew that he was staring, and that it was possibly something he ought to at least try to stop doing, but he couldn't seem to tear his gaze away. "Only half awake," he said, by way of an excuse in case one was needed. 

"And I feel half asleep," Rupert said with a small chuckle. "If you put us together --" He didn't finish the sentence, and the hand moving slowly against Ethan's arm stilled. In the silence that followed, the catch of Rupert's breath was audible, and this close Ethan could see his eyes darken in what had to be a response to his own expression. 

Rupert brought his hand up to cup Ethan's face, sweeping his thumb across Ethan's mouth, the way he always used to just before a kiss; half-question, half command. Ethan remembered halting that soft, insistent touch with a kiss or a sharp nip of his teeth; remembered drawing the thumb into his mouth, licking and sucking on it in a preview of what he would do to Rupert's cock, a minute, an hour later, depending on their mood. 

He couldn't ever remember turning his head to avoid it. 

He didn't now. Instead, Ethan pressed forward, taking advantage of however long this apparent reprieve would last and kissing Rupert. It was clumsier than he would have liked it to be, but Rupert didn't seem to mind, leaving his hand on the side of Ethan's neck and returning the kiss. It didn't last long, but Ethan was wide-eyed and anxious by the time it ended, meeting Rupert's gaze nervously as he waited for Rupert to say something, to reject or accept him. 

"I've been watching you sleep," Rupert murmured, sliding his hand around Ethan's shoulders and bringing them even closer, until every word Rupert said left Ethan's face brushed by an exhaled breath. "Wanting to wake you as glad as I was that you were resting." 

He turned his head and kissed Ethan, a slow, still-hesitant kiss that seemed to be as much about reassurance as it was about need because there was still a gap between them, whereas normally they'd have had their hands on each other by now, bodies wound together. 

"You should have woken me," Ethan said, not quite daring to touch Rupert, letting the other man lead where this went. There was a tiny voice in his head telling him that if Rupert was in control and something went wrong, it would be Rupert's fault, not his. 

Another kiss, careful lips encouraging his own to part so that Rupert could explore his mouth more thoroughly, and Ethan made a small sound, wanting more but not prepared to ask for it in so many words. 

"Tell me if this isn't what you want," Rupert said in a voice barely above a whisper, sliding his hand over Ethan's back, the shirt he was wearing a barrier Ethan wished would vanish so that he could feel Rupert's hand against his skin. "Tell me because I don't think this is going to end with a kiss if you don't." 

"I don't want it to end at all," Ethan said honestly. "I want this. You. I always have." 

Rupert's hand moved down, tugging with an impatience Ethan had to admit he found flattering at Ethan's shirt until he'd freed enough of it to be able to slip his hand underneath it, fingers spread wide against Ethan's back. 

"Why did I let you go to sleep with this many clothes on?" Rupert muttered, sounding so annoyed at himself that Ethan couldn't help smiling. 

"Because I was half-dead on my feet?" Ethan asked, closing his eyes as Rupert's hand stroked over his bare skin. "I'd be perfectly happy to remedy the problem now, though; just say the word." 

"And what would I have to say?" Rupert asked, pulling back just a little, though his hand stayed where it was, exploring Ethan's back, lingering over a scar Ethan had picked up in the Initiative and then moving away. "Would 'Please, Ethan, get naked as quickly as possible' work? Or does that lack a certain finesse?" 

Ethan laughed. "When have I ever cared about finesse?" He shifted and yanked his shirt over his head a bit awkwardly, letting it fall where it would before getting up to take off his trousers. "I hope I'm not the only one getting naked," he said, looking at Rupert and the way the man's eyes were watching him as he disrobed. 

"There wouldn't be much point in that, now would there?" Rupert replied, sitting up and pulling off his t-shirt. "But you can't expect me not to get a little distracted when you're stripping off a few feet away." He threw back the covers and lifted his hips enough to be able to push down his shorts, leaving him naked before Ethan had finished stepping out of his trousers. As Ethan watched, Rupert stroked his cock, already hard, his strong, elegant fingers touching it lightly, his gaze dropping to Ethan's erection. "As you don't mind me being direct, can I ask you to get back here so I can do this to you?" 

"There's nothing I'd like more," Ethan said, sitting down again and stretching out beside Rupert. He was aware that he was older, thinner, but he was vain enough to know that he was still an attractive man, and recent events had proven that others thought so, too. He didn't care to dwell on those nameless, exceedingly forgettable encounters, not now, even if he _was_ hesitant to reach out and touch Rupert. 

"Nothing?" Rupert said, turning onto his side and meeting Ethan's eyes. "I think I can change your mind about that..." The teasing smile froze in place as his fingers found Ethan's cock as if all his concentration was on what he was touching. With a slow deliberation that had Ethan gritting his teeth, Rupert slid his fingertips from Ethan's balls to the tip of his cock and then wrapped his hand around with a possessive squeeze, leaning down to kiss Ethan without a hint of his earlier hesitancy. 

As much as Ethan wanted to close his eyes, he didn't until the moment Rupert's lips touched his. It was too important that he be able to see who he was with because, truth be told, it was still a bit hard to believe. He pressed into the kiss eagerly, moaning against Rupert's mouth as the man's hand did incredible things to his cock. 

He wanted so badly to touch Rupert, too. "Don't want to hurt you," he managed. "Or me. Tell me not to worry?" 

"I want your hands on me," Rupert answered, turning his attention to Ethan's neck and sucking hard at it, just under Ethan's ear, biting and licking at the sensitive skin as Ethan shuddered in reaction. "And I'm not worrying about anything but how long you're going to make me wait for that." He ran his thumb over the slick head of Ethan's cock, timing it just as he gave Ethan's neck another kiss, an inch lower. Ethan could feel the jerk of Rupert's cock against his thigh, and he didn't need Rupert's bitten-off gasp to tell him how aroused Rupert was feeling. 

Cautiously, Ethan reached out and touched Rupert's bare hip, stroking over the skin there as he relaxed when nothing happened. Well, relaxed as much as it was possible to with Rupert's thumb slicking over the head of his cock and his teeth biting at his throat. Ethan moved his hand down along the front of Rupert's thigh and then lower until he was able to close his grip around the hard, eager cock that he knew so well. "Yes," he murmured, tipping his head back to give Ripper better access. 

Rupert whispered Ethan's name against his throat, making it sound like a thank you and then seemed to make a deliberate effort to slow things down, so that the next kiss Ethan got was gentler, if no less arousing, with a warm mouth travelling across his collarbone and then back to his lips. Rupert's tongue slid over his in a leisurely glide, and his hand left Ethan's cock to caress his body, Ethan feeling his skin waken under Rupert's touch. 

Ethan moaned again, writhing his body sensuously against Rupert's, gasping when it became clear that Rupert still knew him intimately enough to touch him in ways that made his arousal soar. He bit at Rupert's lower lip, breathing harsh and anxious already despite Rupert's obvious desire to keep things slow. "Don't tease," Ethan begged. He didn't want to be touched gently; he wanted Ripper to fuck him roughly, to roll him over and shove that glorious cock into him without further preamble. "Fuck me." 

For a second, he thought that was all it would take to get what he wanted because Rupert tensed, his fingers biting deep into skin he'd been stroking and his face tightening as he stared down at Ethan, clearly tempted by the idea. Then he shook his head. "No. Not tonight." 

Dismayed, Ethan blinked up at Rupert. "No?" He tried, rather half-heartedly, to pull away, but Rupert was gripping his hip firmly and it wasn't as if he really _wanted_ to get away. "What was all this about then?" 

"Was?" Rupert raised his eyebrows. "It still is. Since when did I need to fuck you to make you come? And even if I had thought ahead and added lube to the shopping trolley -- which I didn't -- it wouldn't make any difference." The hand on Ethan's hip moved over. "You're not well, Ethan," Rupert murmured, dragging the side of his thumbnail slowly down Ethan's cock. "Why don't you just lie back and let me take care of you?" The wicked gleam in his eyes was at odds with the concern in his voice. "And Ethan? Telling me not to tease you is a waste of time. I like doing it far too much to stop." 

Ethan shut his eyes as Rupert's thumb travelled over his balls to the skin just below, the touch light. "I'm certainly well enough to be fucked," he protested, without much hope. He wouldn't complain \-- at least, not _too_ much -- as long as Rupert kept touching him. 

"Really?" There was a hint of something a little dark in the single word and it didn't do much to change Ethan's mind about wanting to be fucked. "You sound very sure about that. I won't bother asking how you know." 

Ethan felt a hand push his legs apart and Rupert moved to kneel between them, staring down at him, his face unreadable in the fading light. "The last time I did this I was drunk, but I can still remember the sounds you made, how you tasted." He wrapped his hand around Ethan's cock, working it slowly, sliding his other hand over Ethan's belly, scratching at it in teasingly light patterns. "You're not easy to forget, you know." 

Spreading his legs a bit more, Ethan reached up for something to hold onto, but there was no headboard of any kind on the bed. He had to settle for shoving his hands beneath the pillow and curling his grip around the top edge of the mattress. "Neither are you," he gasped as Rupert bent down and blew warm air teasingly over his erection, making it ache. "Ripper..." 

"You're the only one who calls me that these days," Rupert said, ending his sentence with a slow drag of his tongue across the tip of Ethan's cock, tasting it, making a soft sound deep in his throat. "Do you think I can make you forget how to say it in the next five minutes?" 

Ethan shivered with desire and lifted his hips slightly, asking for more. "Please." It wasn't a word he used often, but it was one he was more than willing to speak under these circumstances. 

He looked down and got a smile from Rupert that made his breath quicken. Then Rupert's lips parted and he took Ethan in as deeply as he could, sucking hard, his teeth scraping lightly along the sides of Ethan's cock and his tongue swirling around the tip. Ethan had been prepared for everything but this sudden rush of sensation and he moaned, tightening his hold on the mattress. 

Rupert lifted his head and grinned. "Three minutes?" he said, sounding just a bit too complacent for Ethan's liking. 

Drawing a shuddering breath, Ethan nodded. "Thirty seconds, if you keep on like that," he said shakily. "Ripper, _please_." He'd beg a great deal more for a continuation of that performance. 

He didn't have to. Rupert licked his lips and did it again, the warmth and suction causing a bolt of such pure pleasure to shoot through Ethan that he whimpered, the muscles in his arms straining as he clutched at the mattress. Rupert's teeth caused the most exquisite flares of pain when they scraped over his skin, and Rupert's mouth was hot and wet and _perfect_... 

He could feel Rupert's free hand against his thigh, rubbing at it restlessly as if he was trying to distract himself from what his mouth was doing to Ethan. Which was something Ethan didn't think he could do himself because Rupert had begun to concentrate his attentions on the head of Ethan's cock, opening his mouth just enough to take in the first inch and wrapping his hand around the rest, stripping it with ruthless strokes while his lips and tongue tormented and teased -- and then slowly allowing it to slip deeper inside again, where Ethan wanted it to be. 

The warmth of it soaked into him through his skin, the heat collecting, expanding into his groin as if Rupert were creating something there, some impossibly brilliant sun waiting to burn Ethan from the inside out. He groaned, the edges of his thumbs rubbing against the rough fabric of the mattress keeping him in the moment as he listened to the sound of his own breathing, and Rupert's, and the faint crackle of the fire dying in the fireplace. He wanted this to erase everything else that had come before, leaving nothing but this moment, the two of them together, Ethan where he belonged. Where he'd always known he'd belonged. He'd despaired of ever being here again, and that realisation eddied over and through him at the same time he came helplessly, hips rocking his cock into Rupert's incomparable mouth as he cried out. 

He felt Rupert's lips and mouth tighten around him as he swallowed, the additional stimulus just this side of pain, drawing a final spurt from his cock as his body yielded as it had always done. When Rupert lifted his head, wiping his hand across his mouth unselfconsciously, Ethan could barely manage to return his smile. 

Rupert moved up to lie beside him, pulling the covers up over them both, his hand coming to rest over Ethan's rapidly beating heart. "Did that wake you up, or make you ready to sleep again?" he murmured. 

Ethan blinked lazily and turned, curling his body sideways against Rupert's so that he could feel Rupert's erection pushing insistently along his hip. "I think I could be persuaded to stay awake a bit longer," he said, lifting his chin and pressing his lips to Rupert's, his hand running across Rupert's chest lightly as he tasted the inside of Rupert's mouth with slow licks of his tongue. 

"I don't think it'll be much longer," Rupert said with a soft groan, sliding his fingers through Ethan's hair and bringing their mouths together for another kiss. "And if you need more persuading than 'please', I'll do whatever it takes." 

Ethan was, when it came right down to it, too weary to move from where he was. Nor did he want to stop kissing Rupert, not when Rupert's fingers were tangled in his hair and he was in such a perfect position to slide his hand down to grasp the eager erection that awaited him. He stroked it, feeling the way it fit in his palm, the way the slightly flared head rubbed over the ridge just above his ring finger. 

"Don't stop," Rupert said, a pleading note in his voice letting Ethan know just how close he must be to coming. "God, just --" His tongue thrust hard into Ethan's mouth, silently urging him on, his hand slipping down to grip the back of Ethan's neck, his thumb making rapid circles against the skin he'd bitten to the point where Ethan was fairly certain -- even hoped -- that he'd left bruises. 

Too sated to do more than what he was already doing, Ethan tightened his grip, squeezing Rupert's foreskin so that it slid back and forth along the shaft. He could smell Rupert's arousal and his own release in the air along with the wood smoke, and the little sounds Rupert was making into his mouth were sweet music. "That's right, Ripper," he whispered. "Show me." 

Rupert threw back his head, eyes closed, face contorted, doing just exactly what Ethan had asked, although it was probably more of a response to Ethan's hand than his words. Coming hard with an inarticulate groan, his body shuddering in a pleasure Ethan could feel echoed in his own body, still warmly relaxed and tingling, he looked utterly open and vulnerable. 

Which, strangely, made Ethan feel terrible and as always, his response to feeling terrible was to deny that he felt anything at all. He coaxed another trembling groan from Rupert and released his cock, bringing his own hand to his mouth and licking at Rupert's come while meeting the other man's eyes. "Have fun?" he asked mockingly. 

Rupert closed his eyes and took a moment to compose himself before answering. "Yes, thank you," he replied finally, giving Ethan a look that was verging on wary. "Let me see," he said, getting out of bed and walking over to his jacket, slung over the back of one of the chairs. He pulled a neatly folded handkerchief from a pocket and used it to wipe himself clean. "This is where you pretend this was about as meaningful as any of your one-night stands, and possibly less, isn't it?" He returned to the bed and lay on his back, not touching Ethan, staring up into the darkness. "I'd forgotten that part, sorry." 

"I'm hardly about to change my stripes now," Ethan said, not moving from his position facing Rupert. He wanted to touch Rupert, to run a hand along his skin comfortingly, but he wasn't about to get burned again, not if he could help it. 

"Of course not," Rupert said in a level voice. "At this late stage, with death imminent, why should you?" He rolled to his side, giving Ethan nothing to look at but his back. "My apologies for complicating a fairly satisfactory encounter -- or am I overstating that too? -- with the foolish hope that we were actually making progress." He settled himself into a more comfortable position. "Good night, Ethan." 

"Good night, Ripper," Ethan said, in as natural and pleasant a tone as he could manage, closing his eyes and telling himself that it was better this way. The last thing he needed was to get his hopes up that this was something more than a temporary arrangement, that Rupert might actually... 

No. It was better this way.  
  


* * * * *

Giles woke up before Ethan despite the fact that he'd had a lot less sleep. The early morning light was filtering through windows bare of curtains, but thick with grime, and it looked as if it was going to be a fine day. 

He couldn't help wondering if that blue sky overhead would change to storm clouds once Ethan woke up. 

It was stupid to be angry with Ethan, who was as he'd pointed out simply behaving true to form, but Giles was finding anger a more welcome alternative to hurt. He felt as if he'd made a fool of himself, which wasn't helping him to reach any sort of balance between his conflicting emotions. 

During the night he'd ended up facing Ethan, although some instinct had kept them from getting close enough that they were touching, and he wanted to be able to reach out, carry on what they'd started -- but they hadn't, had they? Or if they had, Ethan was clearly never going to admit to it. Which didn't make much sense, but Giles decided it was too early to try to decipher the enigma that was Ethan Rayne. 

Not on an empty stomach anyway. 

Tossing back the quilt, he got dressed quickly, ignoring the sleepy protest from Ethan as the cool air struck his skin, and started off a kettle of water before going to use the bathroom, which did at least have a shower, fuelled by a surprisingly modern-looking gas heater. Giles felt grubby, but he settled for splashing his face with cold water for now. He was starving and in desperate need of a cup of tea. 

Returning to the main room, he glanced over at the bed to see if Ethan had gone back to sleep and was startled to find Ethan awake but utterly still, watching him. 

It was difficult to find the ideal greeting with the memory of Ethan's body against his in the darkness seeming as distant as, well, Ethan. Giles settled for a nod and a smile that he tried to make neutral. "You're awake then," he said, giving himself a mental kick for the banality of the remark. "How do you feel?" 

Ethan's eyes were dark, his expression difficult to read. "Cold. Come back to bed and warm me up?" 

"I don't think so," Giles said, fighting back the urge to do just that and get a glimpse -- if only a fleeting one -- of the open, approachable Ethan who only seemed to surface when he was aroused, instead of dealing with this closed-off, cautious one. "But I'll make you a cup of tea." 

"Fine," Ethan grumbled. "No point in lounging around if you won't join me." He got out of bed with his typical casual disregard for his nudity and retrieved his bag, taking out a clean shirt which he pulled over his head before disappearing into the bathroom. 

"Unbelievable," Giles muttered to himself, feeling an all-too-familiar irritation building up. He could feel his lips tighten and made an effort to calm down. If they were going to spend the day doing experiments that could well end with one or both of them on the floor not breathing, it was probably best to not be -- The kettle boiled over and doused the gas ring, interrupting his attempts to reason himself into a better mood. Giles cursed and dealt with the mess, scalding his finger in the process but managing to salvage enough water to make a pot of tea. 

Ethan came back out of the bathroom fully dressed, which was a relief. "What can I help with?" he asked, rubbing his hands together briskly. He seemed determined to retain his apparent good mood. 

Giles nodded at the stove, which had a small grill under the two gas rings. "You could start some toast if you like." 

"Okay." Ethan found the bread and put a few slices under the grill, pulling a chair over so that he could watch them closely as they browned. "Did you sleep well?" 

"Yes," Giles said, pouring them both a mug of tea and adding some milk after giving it a cautious sniff. "Nothing like some meaningless sex as a soporific, is there?" So much for his good resolutions, but there'd been something so knowing about the way Ethan had asked that question... 

Ethan glanced up at him. "I wouldn't call it meaningless." 

"That's not the impression I got last night," Giles said. He gulped down some tea and set his mug down on the table. "Only you could have me discussing something like this at the breakfast table," he said ruefully, the comforting, familiar taste making his reaction seem a little overly dramatic. "Ethan, just let me know when you make up your mind what you want from me, and until then let's concentrate on your situation." He leant back in his chair and extended his hand towards Ethan. "Speaking of which --" 

Ethan shook his head. "Not until this is out," he said, gesturing at the gas stove. "Not that it isn't fairly dangerous on its own without live flames, but I sincerely doubt either of us would be pleased if this place went up in a blaze." He looked around doubtfully. "Well... the owner wouldn't, at any rate." 

Acknowledging that for once Ethan had a point, Giles let his hand drop. "Toast," he said, moving the conversation away from the awkward to the mundane. "I prefer mine light on the charcoal so I think those are yours." 

Glancing at the stove again, Ethan swore and nipped the rather dark toast from under the grill, seemingly put out by the fact that it had gone from pale to nearly burnt in the few seconds he'd looked away. "I like mine this way," he said, putting the toast on a plate and starting some more bread under the grill. "Not everyone's quite as fussy as you are, you know." 

Giles stood up. "Are you incapable of saying anything that isn't loaded with meaning today?" he asked with a polite interest he intended to be annoying. He got another plate, a knife and a tub of margarine advertised as being more buttery than butter, placing them on the table in front of Ethan. Trying to avoid another burn, he pulled out the grill pan and flipped his toast over. "Yes, I'm fussy as you call it. I take it you're less discriminating these days? Not too bothered about who you wake up next to as long as they don't expect you to remember their name, or anything sentimental like that?" 

Ethan spread margarine on his toast and looked at Giles with what might have been mild surprise. "You do realise that your indignation at the fact that I haven't chosen to remain celibate during the years we've been apart comes across as jealousy, don't you?" He didn't sound displeased about it. 

Giles rescued his toast and dropped it onto his plate. "Perhaps I am, a little," he said, reaching for the knife and scraping a thin layer of margarine over his toast. "Or perhaps I'm just --" He hesitated, unwilling, now it came down to it, to be quite as frank as he'd intended, given that Ethan would probably just use it against him. "I don't expect you to show restraint in any part of your life, Ethan. It's not the way you are. Excess in everything and the hell with the consequences." He gave an indifferent shrug which didn't match his feelings about that philosophy. "And I imagine you've retained enough sense to make sure there aren't any from picking up anyone who takes your fancy, or you wouldn't have wanted me to fuck you last night." He took a bite of toast and met Ethan's gaze without looking away. 

Sliding his chair a bit closer to the table, Ethan looked down at its rough surface. "I've been careful where it counted," he muttered, seeming uninterested in his food now. "I wouldn't put you at risk." He glanced up, a small, twisted smile telling Giles what he needed to know. "In any case, touching complete strangers seemed enough of a gamble without adding the potential spread of disease to the mix." 

Giles felt a tension he hadn't known was there relax and vanish, and the smile he gave Ethan in return was warmer than he'd planned. "Did you ever -- did anything ever happen to them?" he asked quietly. "You said sometimes people had been -- hurt. Was it then?" 

He felt as if he was being unforgivably intrusive, but the more he knew about what triggered Ethan's condition the better, and it seemed likely that the heightened emotions -- and loss of control, no matter how temporary -- during sex would leave Ethan unable to control whatever was happening to him. 

"No," Ethan said. "But I worried that it would." That twisted smile was still on his face as he traced the grain of the wooden table with one fingertip, making it clear that his earlier good mood had been temporary, a facade. "I'm sure you're surprised. Me, worry about anything but my own skin? It's a good joke, isn't it. Not, of course, that I wasn't worried about my own skin as well. I don't care for being nearly electrocuted with static shock any more than the next person." 

Giles could tell that Ethan wasn't finished, so he kept quiet, waiting. 

"There was a woman," Ethan said, his voice barely above a whisper. "At a corner shop. I touched her hand when I went to pay for my things -- I didn't mean to. I knew what might happen. There was a jolt, and we both... and she... They said she wasn't in good health, that she'd been in hospital the year before and it was only a matter of time." He looked up at Giles, his eyes haunted, confused. "I killed her. The fact that I didn't mean to doesn't change that. And I know that I shouldn't care. I don't _want_ to care. But I can't seem to help it." 

"Of course you can't," Giles said, picturing Ethan's shock and feeling nothing but pity. "For all your faults, I don't think you've ever been someone who could kill casually, wantonly. And you didn't then. You know that as well as I do." He wrapped his hands around his mug of tea, pulling it towards him, needing something to hold. "You said last night you couldn't change," he said slowly, looking down at the gently swirling liquid. "But you have. You'd always have been a little sorry for that woman's death, but you wouldn't have let it affect you deeply. You'd have thought of it as the workings of Chaos, a perfect example of how one life can be disrupted by another. You used to love being that disruptive force, didn't you? Coming to jar me out of complacency, make me face my past..." He looked up at Ethan. "But now you're facing your future, and you're scared." 

Ethan didn't respond at first, just continuing to look down at the table. Finally, he said, "I've never been any good at being alone with my thoughts. But knowing that I might actually have no choice but to be alone, especially when there might not be a great deal of time left..." He swallowed, and when he looked up at Giles again he'd managed to hide his feelings behind a jaunty grin. "Live life to the fullest, isn't that what they say?" 

"Well, despite the fact that last night I was tempted to shorten your life rather than help you extend it, you're not alone at the moment," Giles told him. "And while you were being your usual slothful self, I did get a few hours of work done, and I think there're a few avenues we can explore." He stood up and cleared the table, dumping the plates in the sink but not bothering to do more than that. "What's the longest you've gone recently without an incident? Because it's been twenty-four hours now. Is that promising or normal?" 

"It's not outside the range of normal," Ethan said, watching Giles cautiously. He shut his eyes for a moment as if taking internal stock. "I don't think it's built up the same way it usually does. I feel like I could go a lot longer without needing to, for lack of a better word, discharge." 

Giles pursed his lips, thinking over the options. "Well, we could wait to see if that changes -- I'm sure being out here's only slowed down the build-up, not halted it -- or we can be a little more adventurous and have you try some magic and see what happens. What do you think?" 

"I say we try it now and get it over with," Ethan said, after a moment's thought. "Did you have something specific in mind?" 

"I did, actually," Giles told him. "Something simple, but something you'd normally need a fair bit of power to accomplish." He walked to the door. "And unless the place is crawling with tourists, I think outside is the best place to try it." 

Ethan followed him outside, stopping at the top of the rickety steps and looking around. "There's no one nearby?" 

Giles looked around. The cliff top was deserted, and as it was devoid of anything but a view which could be had at many more picturesque spots along the coast with the bonus of necessities for enjoying nature like benches, ice cream vans and pubs, he didn't think that was likely to change. "Doesn't look like it. Let's go over there; no sense in being too close to the edge." 

He led them around the side of the house to a slightly sunken area that might once have been a garden of some kind. There was the trace of a path and stones delineating a flower bed, now a tangle of weeds amongst the thin, wiry grass. 

Giles bent and picked up one of the stones, weighing it in his hand. It was about the size of a grapefruit, an unremarkable grey lump, smoothed by time into a rough sphere. 

"Here," he said, handing it to Ethan and sitting down on the grass. "I want you to advance it; push it through to the point where it breaks down into sand. Nicely chaotic, without being unnatural; it'll require some power to accelerate what's happening to it already, but you're not initiating anything exactly. Think you can do that?" 

"It's not a question of whether or not I can do it, it's a matter of what will happen as a result," Ethan said, sitting down as well with the rock cradled in his hand. "When I expend any significant amount of energy, the subsequent draw -- usually from the electric, although that shouldn't be possible here -- tends to knock me out." Ethan looked around and then shrugged. "Won't know until we try, I suppose." He concentrated for a moment, his eyes going slightly unfocused as he murmured under his breath then there was a flash of triumph across his face as the rock in his hand turned to sand and sifted through his fingers into his lap. Ethan's eyes met Giles' an instant before the sky above them crackled ominously, dark clouds threatening as if from nowhere, the tang of the air around them metallic on Giles' tongue. In that instant, panic set in, Ethan flinging his hand toward Giles and Giles, unthinkingly, reaching out to take it. 

Ethan's hand smacked against his palm and Giles tightened his grip without waiting to see if it was safe to do so. The instinct to help Ethan went beyond rational thought or conscious decision. He'd felt the power Ethan had raised when the stone turned to sand like an itch under his skin; felt it flare to the point of being painful a moment later, but the instant their hands joined it retreated with a cessation so complete and swift that he was left with nothing to do but clutch at Ethan's hand and meet his wide-eyed gaze in silence under the once again clear skies. 

"Did you _feel_ that?" Ethan asked, jumping to his feet and pulling Giles along with him so that they were both standing in the ruined garden. Ethan's eyes were wild, and he shifted his weight back and forth as if unable to stay still. "It worked!" Exuberantly, he threw his arms around Giles and kissed him with so much passion that it took Giles' breath away. 

It was impossible not to respond to the kiss and Giles didn't even try, but he returned it with part of his mind still trying to work out just exactly what had happened, and when Ethan broke the kiss, his eyes still filled with the exhilaration Giles himself shared, he stepped back. 

"Ethan," he said, raising his hand. "Slow down. That was -- I'm not sure what happened." He frowned. "I need -- I need to just sit down for a moment, I think. Sorry." 

He didn't feel unwell, or in any pain, but he could feel fatigue pulling at him as if he'd been awake for hours, dimming his vision and tangling his words. Reaching out, he grabbed Ethan's arm. "Help me get back inside," he said, hating the way concern replaced relief on Ethan's face. "Don't worry. I think I know what's happening --" 

Ethan's voice was surprisingly soothing as his arm went around Giles' waist, supporting him. "Here, hang onto me." The ground felt uneven and rocky as if Giles were drunk. Or maybe it really _was_ uneven and rocky; he couldn't remember, and wasn't sure he cared. 

But he cared about reassuring Ethan. That seemed important, and he tried to explain what had happened, even if the darkness was swooping down and snatching away every other word as they made their way inside. "Not hurt -- just -- can't ground you -- without it draining me. Think I can fix it." 

He was proud of himself for getting that last sentence out whole as Ethan lowered him onto the bed. Closing his eyes with a sigh of relief that he'd managed to explain it, Giles sank into sleep as deep as Ethan's had been, that final datum clicking into place, so for an instant he understood it all perfectly. 

When he woke some time later, Ethan was sitting on the bed beside him, one hand wrapped around his. As soon as Giles stirred, Ethan shifted, not letting go of his hand but moving so they could look at each other more easily. "How do you feel?" Ethan asked, lifting his other hand to rub Giles' shoulder. 

With less effort than he'd expected, Giles moved his hand up to cover Ethan's for a moment. "Better. Fine." He looked at Ethan. "If you felt like this last night and still had the energy to be interested in sex -- well, you're a better man than I am. I feel \-- felt -- so utterly exhausted --" He struggled up so that he was sitting, glancing down at Ethan's hand and giving him a rather apologetic smile as he pulled his own free of it. "I don't think we need to stay like that permanently," he said. "Although it's probably best we don't split up for a while. Do you realise what happened out there? I'm not sure I was making much sense..." 

But Ethan didn't seem capable of not touching him, sliding the hand Giles had just released up to rest over Giles' heart almost as if trying to reassure himself that it was still beating. "You said something about grounding, so I assume you meant that you channeled the auxiliary energy somehow. It wasn't deliberate?" 

Giles tried to remember what had gone through his mind. "Not exactly. I felt you -- you don't lose control as such, do you? You lose your focus... take in so much power..." He gave Ethan a sidelong look. "A _lot_ of power; no wonder you've been able to do what you have. Will you be insulted if I say it's far beyond anything you used to be capable of?" 

That was enough to get Ethan up and walking away from the bed, even though that hadn't been Giles' intention. Ethan didn't go far, just over to the table before turning back around. There was something about his posture that spoke of an almost unbearable tension, an inability to stay still. "Yes," Ethan said, arms folded across his chest. "Well, they... they wanted to see how much power I could generate as well as how much I could carry without exploding into little pieces. It was easier there. They had ways of making sure I didn't damage their facility." 

"I'm sure they did," Giles muttered, feeling a resurgence of his intense dislike for the Initiative. Adam, Oz, Ethan -- even Spike... all tampered with, in the name of what he wasn't sure, but it hadn't been for good, any of it. He bit back on his resentment and guilt. 

"I know why it tired me," he said, still feeling the weight of that intense fatigue. "And why you've been experiencing such a vicious backlash; it's the price needed to balance the dissipation of all that excess energy. I think, although I can't be sure, that it'll get easier every time we try; that eventually you'll be able to override what they did to you." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and tried standing up. "And I'm not sure why I could do it without being damaged, or why I've been almost compelled to make contact with you, not entirely, but somehow I'm not all that surprised." He lifted his eyebrow and met Ethan's gaze. "Are you?" 

Ethan hesitated and then came over and stood near Giles, hovering as if he weren't sure if Giles needed -- or wanted -- help. "Yes, I'm surprised," Ethan said. "Maybe I shouldn't be. But if this is the price..." 

Giles moved the step needed to let him stroke his hand against the side of Ethan's face. "It's not a high one," he said, letting his hand fall away. "And it's not one I mind paying." 

Perhaps the touch was too intimate; Ethan turned away again, pacing the length of the small cottage and back. The look he gave Giles was, possibly, apologetic. "You're less fun when you're unconscious." 

Giles rolled his eyes but couldn't hold back a grin. "As compliments go, that's certainly one to treasure. Thank you. I think." He sat down at the table deciding that perhaps he'd stood up too soon as he felt slightly dizzy. Or possibly that was from watching Ethan prowl around. "How long was I no fun for anyway?" 

"A few hours," Ethan said. He came over to Giles and crouched down beside him, looking up into his face, studying it. "It felt like longer. I could make you something to eat? Let me do something." 

Giles shook his head. "Glass of water perhaps, but I'm not hungry." He gave Ethan an appraising look. "You want to do something for me? I doubt that impulse will last long, knowing you, but while it does, do you want to help me out with that translation job? It's almost done and a second pair of eyes would be useful." 

It was a genuine request; Ethan knew enough to understand what Giles was doing, and pick up on any obvious mistakes, but Giles also wanted to distract him. Ethan looked tense and edgy, his earlier elation transformed into a restlessness Giles remembered of old. 

Ethan looked at him a bit speculatively as he set the requested glass of water down in front of Giles, a slight frown on his face then he nodded. "Okay. Show me?" 

It only took a moment or two to put everything in order so they could get to work -- all Giles had done earlier was pile up the papers and books he'd been using . Ethan was so twitchy, however, that he could barely sit still, drumming his fingers on the tabletop as Giles tried to show him what he'd done so far and what was left to do. 

"You don't have to do this, you know," Giles said, reaching out to still Ethan's hand by bringing his down over it hard and giving him an exasperated look. "I just don't think I'm up to trying to ground you again so soon, and I have to have this done by Friday, so I might as well work on it while I recover." He pulled a paper out from underneath Ethan's elbow and scanned it. "Not that I see why he's in such a hurry to get it." 

"Were you planning on us being done here in that amount of time then?" Ethan asked casually as he began to look over some of the other papers, his thumb rubbing the edge of the book but his hand otherwise still. 

"I wasn't planning anything," Giles replied, his attention more on what he was reading. "How could I? But I can work on this here as well as anywhere, don't worry." He glanced over at Ethan. "Or don't you think you can bear the boredom much longer?" 

"I do know you're capable of being much more distracting than this," Ethan said, reaching out and patting Giles' hand. "But don't worry about me; I'll soldier through." 

"Distracting," Giles said. "Well, it's a step up from meaningless, I suppose." He grinned at Ethan. "And I promise I'll stop belabouring that particular point when my bruised ego has recovered." 

"Don't put words in my mouth," Ethan said, sliding a different book over in front of him and opening it. "You're the one that called it meaningless. And if you continue to repeat it, I may be the one that ends up with a bruised ego. Which, if I remember correctly, is a lot less fun than some other sorts of bruises." He gave Giles an arch look before glancing down at the book again. "This, on the other hand, is definitely boring. Why would anyone find this sort of thing worth translating? Wouldn't a normal protection spell do just as well?" 

"I haven't really paid much attention to it as a whole," Giles confessed. "I've been focusing more on the details. It's some sort of a blessing on a dwelling place, isn't it? And as you say, there are so many versions of that, it's hard to see why anyone would need another." 

The frown on Ethan's face deepened. "Especially when they're already translated and available. Still, there's no accounting for taste." After a few moments of silence, he snagged a blank piece of paper and scribbled something down onto it. "Here, let me see that." Without waiting for Giles to reply, Ethan took the page Giles had been working on. 

"What is it?" Giles asked. "That's just details of the date the ritual needs to be performed as far as I can tell, and it's so vaguely worded I haven't been able to pin it down exactly." He shrugged. "There's something about bright fire, which could be a reference to Roodmass, I suppose. Come to think of it as that's on Friday it might explain the rush he's in." He rubbed his head. He still didn't feel that he was thinking as clearly as usual. "Except if he knows that then he's already translated it partially, and that doesn't fit what he told me." 

"I don't know why you'd be surprised if that were the case," Ethan said. When Giles looked up at him, he was watching Giles seriously. "Do you want to lie down again for a bit? I could keep at this while you rested." 

Giles shook his head. "No, or I'll never sleep tonight." He glanced around the dingy room, feeling something of Ethan's restlessness himself. "Why don't we leave this and go for a walk?" he said. "The village is about a mile away and we can get a pub lunch or something." 

"Yes, please," Ethan said eagerly, standing up at once. "If you think you can keep me from shorting out everything in the pub, that is." 

"You can stay out in the beer garden while I order for us," Giles promised him, rather looking forward to the idea of a pint in the sunshine with company for a change after weeks of rather lonely lunch breaks in his office or the local pub. "Assuming they have one." He stood up, pleased that he felt physically fine again, even if he wasn't up to the fiddly, detailed work of translating, and gave Ethan a deliberately suggestive grin. "And if they don't, just stay close so I can grab you if I need to." 

"I didn't realise we'd graduated to public displays of affection," Ethan said lightly, although he seemed chuffed that Giles had hinted at it even in a joking fashion. "I take it you're all right to walk that far." 

"A mile with the prospect of a pint at the end of it is no problem," Giles assured him. "But what about you?" He looked at Ethan, noting that his eyes seemed less bloodshot and his face less drawn. "I don't mind driving if you think it'd tire you out." 

"I'd rather walk than sit in a car right now," Ethan said as they got their jackets and headed out the front door, Giles locking it behind them and pocketing the key. It was nearly noon, the sun high overhead, and it was warmer than he could remember it having been in recent days; perhaps spring had finally taken hold. The breeze from the sea smelled of salt, and there was something else in the air, a crisp green scent that might have been some sort of pine. 

The dirt road crunched under their feet as they walked. Ethan's hands were in his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched as if he were colder than he should be, but he appeared cheerful enough. 

When they'd walked for a while in silence, which, with Ethan was a rare event, Giles cleared his throat. "Buffy's alive again, you know," he said casually. "Willow resurrected her." The words played back in his head and he came to a sudden halt. "God, I couldn't say that to many people besides you and not have them label me as delusional, could I?" 

Ethan turned, but continued to walk, albeit slowly and backwards. "I didn't know that she was dead," he said. "Well, I did wonder, what with you being back in London." He tilted his head to one side slightly. "You don't sound particularly happy about the fact that she's alive. Did the spell go wrong?" 

Giles snorted and started to walk again. "Oh as resurrection spells that rip a Slayer out of heaven and bring her buried corpse back to life six feet under go, it went beautifully." He shook his head. "Even at your most reckless, I don't think you'd have attempted what Willow did the day, the very bloody _day_ I flew home." He began to walk a little faster and Ethan fell into step beside him. "I had to get on a plane, jet-lagged and still stiff from those blasted seats in coach, and fly back there again," he said inconsequentially. "And I'm naturally delighted that Buffy's alive, but --" He stopped there, not sure he wanted to share his worries with Ethan, who didn't have any reason to like Buffy -- not that she viewed him in a very kindly light either, for which he couldn't blame her. 

"But she didn't want to come back?" Ethan asked after a moment, surprising Giles with his perceptiveness. 

"No." Giles turned his head to look at the sea, restless where the waves met the shore, seemingly calm further out, where the sunlight dazzled off deep blue water. "She was happy there. This world is her hell now, and I can't -- I couldn't help her with that. She needed me; she wanted me to stay and I left her." 

Ethan was quiet, the line of his shoulders tense. After almost a minute, he turned his face toward Giles with an extremely strained smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Afraid you're looking to the wrong man if you want reassurance on that front, Ripper," he said, and the parallels between having left Ethan all those years ago and Buffy just recently swept over Giles. 

"Leaving Buffy I did to help her --" Giles watched Ethan's face go blank as he retreated into an indifference that was as false as it was fragile. Trying to make Ethan see something he'd never shown any signs of accepting in the past, he said, "I was thinking mostly of myself when I left you, Ethan. Too young and too scared to be anything other than selfish." 

"Well, I've hardly any right to complain then, do I," Ethan said, watching the road in front of his feet. "I should probably be grateful you're not saying you did it for my own good." 

"You'd probably thump me if I did," Giles said, not entirely joking. "I think Buffy was tempted to, but she settled for telling me how wrong I was in great detail." The rough trail they were on turned away from the sea and began to head inland. "Like you did as I recall." 

"Not really the sort to keep quiet about things like that," Ethan said. 

Giles shrugged. "No reason why you should," he said. "You were angry and hurt; most people tend to get a bit vocal at times like that." The track was bordered on either side by brambles now, wild and overgrown, forcing Giles to walk closer to Ethan to avoid getting his jacket caught on the thorns. "I said plenty myself." His arm brushed against Ethan's. "Is it too late to apologise for some of it?" 

"No. But I don't see why you should. It's not as if I'm likely to." Ethan had a point; Giles couldn't remember Ethan ever having seriously apologised for anything. 

"That doesn't absolve me from the need to, but after all this time, to be honest I can't remember all the details anyway." Giles had, in fact, done his best to forget most of them, which might have been cowardly but was the only way he'd been able to cope in the months after leaving, and somehow it'd turned into a permanent solution. He winced. "Just that over the space of a week we got very drunk, stayed drunk, fought, usually ended up in bed, which wasn't that much different from the fighting when it came to leaving bruises, woke up and carried on fighting -- God, wasn't it a relief when I finally just went?" 

Ethan was very quiet, and when Giles glanced over at him again, he looked small, hunched in on himself. "No," Ethan said softly. "Well, maybe. I knew you'd go sooner or later. Maybe it _was_ better that you left when you did." 

"Do you really think we'd have stayed together?" Giles asked. It was something he'd wondered about; useless, pointless speculation as he tried to imagine the months they'd been together turning into years. "If I hadn't gone back to my training? You don't think we'd have moved on, moved apart eventually anyway?" 

"I'm not sure it matters," Ethan said. "When the going got tough, you picked up and left. It's not as if I wouldn't have done the same." But it sounded to Giles as if Ethan's words were forced, false. 

He glanced ahead. The track they were on was about to peter out and join a main road, bordered by hedgerows. There were no pavements and enough cars coming along to make single file the safest way of proceeding. Not an ideal way of carrying on a conversation like this. "Ethan --" He put out his hand and halted him. "You wouldn't change, you couldn't see the risks of what we were doing --" He felt the futility of it all overwhelm him and he stepped back. "Let's find something new to argue about," he said, trying to keep his voice level. "Or nothing at all. Because it won't change what we did in the past, and something tells me it's not a good idea for us to be fighting." He glanced down at his hand, flexing his fingers, remembering the way Ethan's hand had held it as the power spilled through them. "Not now." 

Ethan nodded. "Always best not to take your chances with a live wire, unless you like being burned," he said, a bit bleakly. "I've never tried to claim I was anything but what I am, Rupert." 

"I know what you are, Ethan," Giles said. "But if you think I offered to help you blind to the risks, you're wrong. They just didn't matter because --" He glanced around, hearing voices. A couple appeared at the end of the lane, accompanied by a large dog and two small children, and he sighed. "Let's just get to the pub." 

"Right." Ethan followed him without further comment. 

The pub wasn't far once they'd walked to the end of the lane \-- maybe a few hundred yards -- but when they were still a fair distance from the door, Ethan stopped, fidgeting. 

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," Ethan said. 

Giles glanced back at him. "In what way?" 

"There are all sorts of people in there," Ethan said. 

"It's a weekday, off-season, in a small, not particularly popular village," Giles said patiently. "I really don't think the place will be busy, and weren't we planning to sit outside anyway?" 

"You go in then," Ethan said. The nervous energy that Giles so associated with him was back, and he gestured over toward the four small tables and chairs sitting in a brick-lined courtyard to the right of the building. "I'll wait there." He looked about as capable of waiting as Giles felt of flying. 

"And I'll come out with two pints and find you've reduced the table to kindling or something," Giles said resignedly. "You've got that look about you. My fault for dragging us both down Memory Lane." He glanced up at the inevitable power lines and sighed. "Sorry. Looks like I'll have to owe you that drink then." 

Ethan made a visible effort to relax. "No, I'll be fine," he said. "I can do this. Trust me." 

"For what it's worth, I do," Giles told him. He led the way to the tables, waited for Ethan to sit down, and then dropped his hand onto Ethan's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Want me to see if they do HSB this far along the coast?" he asked. "Or will you settle for whatever's on tap?" 

"Anything's fine," Ethan said, looking up at him with something that might have been more than simple affection. "I trust you, too." Whether it was true or not, it sounded as if he wanted it to be. 

Moving away from Ethan without touching him again after that admission was surprisingly hard to do, and Giles only managed it by reminding himself that the sooner they got something to eat or drink, the sooner they could get back to the cottage, where he had plans that didn't include translating texts as much as getting Ethan into bed again. 

Ethan was playing havoc with his work ethic, he reflected without regret. It wasn't as if he'd had many holidays over the last five years after all. 

He made his way into the bar and found that the place wasn't quite as deserted as he'd predicted, but still quiet enough that he got served within minutes and emerged with the drinks and two menus to find Ethan sitting where he'd left him, staring at a ginger cat that had appeared from nowhere and was winding its way around Ethan's ankles purring energetically. 

"Is he expecting to be fed?" Giles asked, sitting down beside Ethan and passing him a menu and his drink. 

"I hope not," Ethan said. He'd never been fond of animals, but now he seemed particularly displeased by the cat's presence, going so far as to shift one of the other chairs over to block its access to his ankles. "I'm not very good at sharing." It was a loaded statement, but when Giles glanced up at Ethan, the other man was taking a sip of his pint and studying the menu with interest. 

Giles shooed the cat away, which worked as well as he'd expected, and scanned his own menu. "What happened to basic pub grub?" he asked, reading the flowery descriptions. "Half of this is probably reheated frozen meals." He spotted a ploughmans at the bottom of the page that would at least be fresh, with the choice of Stilton, Cheddar or Brie, and decided to go for that. "See anything you fancy?" he asked, picking up his glass and tasting the ale before taking a longer swallow when it proved to be better than he'd expected. 

Ethan looked at him over the rim of his glass with a hint of a smile. "A few things," he said, taking a slow sip of bitter and then licking his lips. 

"If I'm included on the list I'll let you get away with that," Giles told him, not even trying to hold back his grin. Even though Ethan's reply had been predictable, almost automatic, given his poor choice of words, that slide of his tongue was still enough to make Giles feel a shiver of arousal. "I'll even help you with your routine." With a straight face he said solemnly, "I meant, what do you want to eat?" and then arched his eyebrow expectantly. 

Ethan looked at him for a moment and then started to chuckle. "No, no, I can't. It's no fun when you make it that easy." He swallowed some more of his bitter and set the glass down on the table before giving another unexpected bark of laughter. "It's more fun when you make it hard," he gasped then put his head down, cushioned on his arm, and let laughter take him. 

Watching Ethan laugh without joining in was impossible, and something about the absurd, schoolboy-level repartee had Giles snickering helplessly, leaning back in his chair and laughing until he was having trouble breathing. "Oh God, I've missed you," he said finally, getting himself under control a little and wiping his hand over his eyes. "I really have." 

There were tears in Ethan's eyes when he lifted his face, and he smiled at Giles fondly. "Enough to buy me lunch?" he asked. 

"With spotted dick to follow," Giles assured him blandly, ignoring the face Ethan pulled. 

* * * * *

After a meal that included three pints and a rather obscenely large ploughman's lunch each, not to mention a fair amount of pleasant, light-hearted conversation, Ethan was feeling better than he had in some time. He couldn't tear his gaze away from Rupert, to the point where he'd actually eaten less than he might have, but that didn't matter. The three pints of bitter had left Ethan feeling warm and comfortable, and it was with some regret that he pushed back his chair when Rupert did and got to his feet. 

The cat reappeared as if from nowhere and jumped up onto the seat Ethan had just vacated, putting its paws up on the edge of the table and sniffing at the remains of the meal on his plate with interest. "Wondered where he'd got to," Ethan said. "Wouldn't think cheese and pickle would be good for him." 

"We had a cat that used to eat peas," Rupert said. "And when they're hungry, I suppose they're not fussy." He reached out and gave the cat his hand to sniff before tickling it under its chin, reducing it to a writhing, purring, ecstatic state. "Not that this one seems to be starving," he added, stroking its exposed, rounded stomach as it peered up at him. "Over-fed if anything." 

The cat decided to take the comment personally, curling up and attacking Rupert's hand, grabbing it with its front paws -- and claws -- while its back paws came up and scrabbled wildly. Rupert yelped indignantly and pulled his hand away. "Stop that," he said sternly. "Bad cat!" 

The cat, apparently offended by Rupert's tone, ran off in a blur. 

"Bit of a split personality," Ethan said, moving closer to look at Rupert's scratched hand, holding it in his own. "Well, I think you'll live. Shall I kiss it better?" 

"It's deeper than it looks," Rupert said, his fingers moving to wrap around Ethan's hand. "I think you might need to do a little more than that to make me feel better." Ethan glanced up from his examination of what was little more than reddened skin. Rupert smiled. "But it's certainly worth a try, I suppose." 

Ethan moved in and kissed Rupert, just a soft, lingering movement of lips over lips, still holding his hand. It felt almost unbearably intimate because it was so slow and gentle, and he knew that he must look more than a bit anxious when he opened his eyes and met Rupert's again. 

"You were supposed to kiss my hand," Rupert said, although he didn't sound displeased about the change in plans. 

"I was going for more of a systemic effect," Ethan said. 

Rupert nodded, the look in his eyes warm, although his voice was light. "That's a reasonable approach. Perhaps we could go home and you could continue the treatment?" He flexed his hand. "It does seem to be working. You're obviously good for me." 

"Am I?" Ethan asked before he could stop himself. He liked the idea that he might be a great deal more than he should have. 

Rupert didn't answer at once, giving it a more serious consideration than Ethan had expected. "You -- remind me. Of things I've been very successful at forgetting. That's a mixed blessing, but it's needed, I suppose. And you --" He glanced at the table, littered with their empty glasses. "Too much beer," he murmured, "but at the risk of being sentimental, you -- wake me up. Arouse me in more senses than the obvious. Yes, you're good for me, Ethan." He hesitated and then added reluctantly. "In small doses, anyway. For the long term, it would have to go both ways; I can't... accept the way you live, the things you do in the name of Chaos." His grip on Ethan's hand tightened for a moment and then he pulled his hand free and sighed. "Sorry. More than you wanted to hear. Blame the beer." 

As much as he didn't want to be, Ethan couldn't help but be hurt by what Rupert had said. "Right," he muttered. "I'd forgotten how maudlin you get when you've been drinking." It might have been one of the reasons they'd fought so bitterly just before Rupert had left him all those years ago; because a maudlin Rupert was so much less fun than the normal version, and Ethan hadn't been able to stir him out of his brooding no matter how hard he'd tried. "Let's go then, before we get the urge to drink more and you decide you don't like what you imagine I'm doing." 

"I am not getting --" Rupert looked vaguely insulted. "On three pints?" He turned towards the exit. "And why do I get the feeling you ignored everything I said first? Did you miss the compliments entirely?" 

"I got a bit distracted by the part where you can't accept the way that you think I live," Ethan said. 

"That I _think_ you live?" Rupert said as they emerged onto the road. "I'm sorry; did you make a New Year's resolution to stop doing spells that leave people altered for the worse?" 

Ethan tucked his hands into his pockets to keep warm and deliberately walked beside Rupert instead of behind him, even though it meant he was essentially walking in the road. "I didn't need to make a resolution," he said. "The American government did that for me. Well, not exactly, but the end result is the same." 

"Not forever," Rupert said. "When we've dealt with what was done to you there's no reason why you won't be able to do as much magic as you like." A car came up behind them, going too fast for such a narrow road, and Rupert's hand shot out, pulling Ethan to him until it had gone by. "Assuming you're not a road fatality statistic by then." 

Tightening his own hand on the front of Rupert's jacket, Ethan grinned, pressing their bodies together a bit more than they already had been. "Why, Ripper," he said softly. "I didn't know you cared." 

Making a frustrated sound that was close enough to a growl to be promising -- Ethan infinitely preferred him angry to wistful \-- Rupert kissed him, a swift, hard press of his lips that didn't last for long enough to let Ethan respond. "Then you haven't been paying attention," he said. 

Ethan opened his mouth to say something -- he wasn't quite sure what -- but was interrupted by the electronic shrill of a cell phone in Rupert's pocket. He hadn't even realised the man had one, and he quickly stepped back into the road, not wanting to take a chance on shorting the mobile out by touching Rupert while he took the call. 

"Why are you --? Oh." Rupert gave him an apologetic look and took out the phone. "Yes?" He started to walk, moving towards the entrance to the cliff side track a short distance ahead. Ethan followed him, staying a careful distance away, but listening to what Rupert was saying with a caution he'd learned over the years. "Yes, it's going very well... I can't see why not.... No, I'm not, but don't worry. I can fax you the..." 

Ethan could fill in the gaps enough to guess that Rupert was talking to his client with the odd taste in spells and he relaxed. Nothing to do with him then. 

Rupert ended the call and tucked the phone away, turning around to see where Ethan was. "Mr. Carlton," he said ruefully. "Making sure I'll be finished by tomorrow and asking where the hell I was, but using rather more tact than that." 

"He does seem very anxious to make use of your services," Ethan said, moving closer, watching Rupert's face to see if they might take up where they'd left off. "He's not the only one." 

"Really?" Rupert asked, closing the gap between them. "Well, that's very flattering, but it leaves me with a difficult choice to make." The road was empty in both directions, the only sound the faint rush of the sea and the rustle of the wind in the hedge that ran alongside it. He hooked his hand in Ethan's jacket and walked back the few steps needed to bring them to the start of the track. Turning his head, Rupert nodded at it. "About fifteen minutes of walking along that, and we'll be back at somewhere with a bed and a table covered with papers I need to work on, unless you can convince me otherwise." He cocked his head to the side. "How good are you at being persuasive, Ethan?" 

Ethan felt, if he were being perfectly honest with himself, a bit unsteady on his feet. He told himself rather firmly that it was the result of the three pints. "I'll try not to be offended that you've apparently forgotten," he said, attempting a normal tone of voice. "I do feel fairly confident in my ability to remind you." He wanted, truth be told, to get down on his knees right there, but Rupert wasn't nearly drunk enough for that. 

"You know," Rupert said softly, releasing his hold on Ethan's jacket and sliding his hand up to curve behind Ethan's neck, in a possessive, warm grip, "so do I." His mouth brushed across Ethan's, teasingly light, and then returned for a deeper kiss, with Rupert's tongue flicking across lips Ethan was opening anyway. 

With a soft moan, Ethan threw himself into the kiss, letting Rupert lead but following each move, each flicker of tongue, and giving as good as he got. He slid one hand underneath Rupert's jacket and around to the small of his back, pulling the other man closer as they continued to kiss until they were both breathless. 

"Too persuasive," Rupert said, his voice husky as they broke apart. "And that bed's too bloody far, but I don't think --" He turned his head just as Ethan heard the sound of a dog, barking with excitement, the noise blended with the high chatter of children's voices coming from further down the track. 

Rupert sighed, stepping back. "Hold that thought?" he suggested. 

Ethan wanted Rupert even more than he had the night before, but he took a deep breath and turned toward the small crowd of children as they came in their direction. "I certainly won't be thinking of anything else," he said, smiling brightly at the dog, its tail wagging so vigorously that its entire hind end went back and forth. 

One of the children looked at them curiously as they passed each other, but the rest were too busy talking amongst themselves to pay two adult men any mind. Ethan did turn his head to watch them cross the road safely, darting out when a car slowed and the driver waved them over. 

"Quite a busy road," he commented. "Lots of traffic. All leaving the village, I hope you notice. Oh, speaking of which, you ought to check the battery in the rental when we get back." Not that he'd mind being stuck somewhere with Rupert, but given the option, he'd rather be stuck someplace with a few more amenities. 

Rupert gave him an incredulous glance. "If you really think I'm going to start doing car maintenance when we get back --" 

"If you think I'd let you, you're quite mad," Ethan said, grinning. "No, of course I didn't mean immediately." Still, he'd hate to have need of the car only to discover that it wouldn't start, so they'd have to check it later on in the afternoon. 

If, of course, either of them was capable of getting out of bed at that point, and Ethan sincerely hoped that they wouldn't be. 

"I promise I'll look at it," Giles said, starting to walk down the track and moving with a purposeful speed that Ethan approved of, even though the beer and the food had left him feeling more like strolling. Anything that could knock a few minutes off the time it would take to reach the cottage had his vote. "Later." 

They made the rest of the journey back to the cottage without further interruptions from children, cars, or dogs. Ethan stood to one side and watched as Rupert unlocked the front door and then followed him inside, immediately turning Rupert and pressing him to the closed door, one hand on either side of Rupert's hips. "Is this the place where I persuade you?" he asked seductively. 

"You already did," Rupert told him, leaning back against the door. "If you'd like me to seem unwilling, I'll try, but somehow --" His hand moved to circle Ethan's right wrist, and then slid down so that his fingers were interlaced with Ethan's. With a catch in his voice that had Ethan closing his eyes for a moment, remembering Rupert saying his name with just that intonation in the past, he brought their linked hands down so that Ethan's palm was cupping Rupert's cock, full and hard, and said, "I don't think I'll be very convincing." 

Ethan pressed his palm more firmly against Rupert's erection, squeezing and feeling it harden further under his touch. "Yes, you do seem rather convinced," he murmured, rubbing himself against Rupert slowly as he brought his other hand down and began to unfasten Rupert's trousers. He was too eager to tease -- not that he was ever much good at that -- and in seconds he had Rupert's bare cock in his hands, stroking it and cupping Rupert's balls, feeling Rupert shudder in arousal. 

"Ethan..." Rupert's head tilted, the slight shift in his position enough to make his cock slide through the circle of Ethan's fingers. Ethan leant in to give Rupert the kiss he clearly wanted, tightening his fingers as Rupert's hips jerked forward again. Rupert groaned and bit down hard on Ethan's lip, running his tongue over the spot a moment later in what, from Ethan's perspective, was an unneeded apology. Making Rupert lose control wasn't always a wise move, but he'd never been able to resist trying, and in circumstances like this it couldn't lead to anything but pleasure for both of them. 

Pulling Ethan in close, Rupert kissed him roughly, tongue exploring the inside of Ethan's mouth. Ethan managed to get hold of Rupert's cock again, almost groaning as his fingers closed around the hard, hot shaft, and he couldn't help himself -- he had to slide down to his knees and do what he'd wanted to do on the path outside, take Rupert's cock into his mouth and taste it. 

Ripper's hands were in Ethan's hair, and they weren't gentle, either, which was just fine by Ethan. If this was only going to last a few days, he didn't want gentle or God forbid, loving. He just wanted Rupert's hands on him, Rupert's cock in him, wanted fierce careless shagging with no strings attached. 

His world narrowed to a series of sensory impressions -- the sharp, tiny pain as a strand of his hair was caught between Rupert's fingers, the ache of his knees pressing against the wooden floor, the tickle of wiry, curled hair against his face as he took Rupert in as deeply as he could. 

It wasn't that he'd ever forgotten what Rupert felt like in his mouth, how he tasted, how he smelled; that indefinable scent that lay unchanging beneath the mixture of soaps used to wash body or clothes. No. He didn't think he could, and he'd never bothered trying. But there was a difference between a memory, time-dimmed and fingered threadbare, and the reality; less perfect -- if he'd conjured this scene up in his mind, they'd both most certainly have been naked and he rather thought he'd have given himself a carpet to kneel on -- but so infinitely preferable because it was real. 

He could feel Rupert striving to stay still, out of a misguided consideration most probably, but that wasn't what Ethan wanted. Not this time. He wanted his mouth fucked by Ripper as simple as that, and as he most certainly wasn't going to stop doing this for long enough to say the few words needed to ask for it, he settled for moving his hand around to cup Rupert's arse, feeling the muscles tighten under his hand as he urged Rupert wordlessly to just stop holding back. 

Rupert's hesitation was so brief as to be almost non-existent then he surged forward, driving his cock deep into Ethan's willing mouth. Ethan could feel the fabric of his trousers rough against his knees, his own cock tight and swollen behind the thinner cotton layer of his boxers as he eagerly sucked Ripper's cock with wide, slick movements of his tongue and a rhythmic, anxious indrawn breath through his nose. 

He could feel the skin stretched thin, almost fragile, over the head of Ripper's cock, hot blood pulsing just beneath the surface. Ripper groaned, fingers tightening in Ethan's hair, head falling back against the door with a muffled thud, and Ethan tasted a slight hint of what was to come -- salty sweet and enough to make him take Ripper in even deeper, wanting more. 

They found a rhythm between one thrust and the next, with him meeting each smooth, forward tilt of Rupert's hips with parted lips and teeth, getting in as much stimulation as he could, sucking and licking with an enthusiasm that verged on avid before Rupert pulled back, leaving Ethan with nothing to do but wait for that next eager, welcome, invasion of his mouth. 

Rupert was making sounds that didn't need to be words to tell Ethan how he felt, sounds that meant 'yes' and 'more', although there was nothing he could do with his mouth that he wasn't already doing and Ripper had to know that. They told him he was doing this right as if he didn't already know that, the way Rupert's cock was hardening and starting to spill small bursts of come, the intense taste mixing with his saliva as he swallowed. 

Ethan made a little sound on the next thrust, not quite a whimper as Ripper's cock slid back far enough to threaten his gag reflex. It didn't matter -- Ethan had trained himself to prevent it from being triggered years ago, and he'd had enough practice lately that it wasn't an issue. Every time it nearly happened, though, it made his own cock jolt with awareness. 

He looked up, needing to see Rupert's face. He wanted to remember that this _was_ Rupert and not some nameless stranger filling his shoes for a brief encounter. 

He expected Rupert's eyes to be closed; for him to have withdrawn into himself this close to coming, allowing Ethan to see him without being seen. 

But Rupert's eyes were open -- his eyelids lowered slightly, yes, but open, and watching Ethan as if he wanted to be reassured as much as Ethan did that this was happening, that this was real. 

The connection between them that Ethan had refused to believe still existed and didn't trust because it hadn't saved him from being abandoned last time snapped back into place with that shared look, undeniable and complete. Rupert's eyes closed a second later, a second too late, the smooth pattern of his thrusts changing into helpless, graceless jerks as his body reached the point where release was the only option. 

Ethan dug his fingers into the hard muscle of Rupert's arse as the first wave of orgasm rippled through him, sucking harder and drawing a harsh groan from Rupert that would have made Ethan grin if his mouth hadn't been otherwise occupied. The taste of Rupert's come flooded over Ethan's tongue and he swallowed quickly, urging Rupert with wordless lips to give up everything he had. 

Rupert's hands loosened their grip in Ethan's hair and slid down. Ethan felt Rupert's fingertips tracing the hollows in his cheeks as Ethan sucked at his cock, more gently now, coaxing more shudders of release from him. Then Rupert's fingers brushed against his lips, tracing the shape of them, held open and parted by his cock, and Ethan swallowed one last time and pulled away. 

"You know, the last time I did this for someone, I insisted on a cushion for my knees," Ethan said trying to sound jaunty in spite of his own swollen cock and the expression on Rupert's face. 

Rupert didn't answer him immediately, which was probably an answer in itself, his breathing still rapid and his features not under control enough for him to be capable of hiding what he was feeling. Which, Ethan noticed with a slight, delightedly apprehensive shiver, was starting to look like anger. Rupert pushed away from the door and glanced down at his cock, still half-erect and wet, before shrugging and casually holding it in place with one hand as he drew up his zip half way, a gesture not lost on Ethan because it implied this wasn't over while at the same time leaving Rupert dressed again. He'd have preferred it if Rupert had just let his trousers drop to the floor, but he wasn't about to say that. 

"Get up," Rupert said, extending his hand. Ethan eyed it cautiously and then he let himself be helped up. His hand was released at once, leaving him standing very close to Rupert. 

Uncertain now, Ethan did what he usually did when he was uncomfortable -- retreated further behind his facade of casual cheerfulness. "I do like it when you go all stern headmaster on me. Am I to play the naughty schoolboy?" 

"I'll play any game you want," Rupert told him, the anger leaving his face to be replaced by determination that wasn't, somehow, an improvement. "I'm sure I've been given a leading role in several of your favourite fantasies over the years. Just tell me and I'll do my best to make them real for you, Ethan, if that's really what you want." The words should have been flavoured with the dry bite of sarcasm, but he sounded sincere, which didn't make sense. "But you've got to give me something first." He smiled, and the threat was back. "Or you can take care of this --" he flicked the back of his fingers against Ethan's erection, hard enough to sting \--"the usual way. And no, I don't want to watch." 

"If you're thinking that the usual way is with my own hand, you'd be wrong," Ethan said, more disturbed by Rupert's attitude than he wanted to be. This wasn't playing, it was serious, and he didn't like it. Still, he couldn't keep from asking, "What is it you want?" 

"You know what I want, Ethan," Rupert replied, his voice uneven. "And it's not a strings-free fuck. I know where to get those as well as you do, and they're better than nothing, I suppose, but are they really better than what we could have if you'd stop holding back?" His face hardened and his voice steadied. "You never used to be this willfully blind. Or do you think anyone you've fucked could ground you and channel your power?" 

That wasn't playing fair, and Rupert knew it just as well as Ethan did. "You aren't seriously suggesting that I owe you something because of a possibly misguided twist of fate that's given you the ability to help me with my little problem?" Ethan asked. He wasn't playing fair either, but he didn't see why he should when Rupert wouldn't. "Am I really the one who's being willfully blind? You're the one who left me, Ripper, not the other way around, and now you're implying that I'm the one with commitment issues because I don't fancy a repeat performance?" 

Somehow, the look of defeat that got him as the truth of what he was saying hit home wasn't as satisfying as it should have been. 

"You don't owe me anything," Rupert said, leaning back against the door and rubbing his hand across his face. "It's not as if I chose to be able to do it. The only choice I made -- recently -- was to help you, and I won't lie to you; that was through guilt as much as concern, although the concern was there." He put out his hand, but it was only to push Ethan aside so that he could walk past him into the room. He pulled out a chair and sat down at the table, shoving the scattered papers aside, his back turned so that Ethan couldn't see his face. "I'm not the only one who left, Ethan. The last few times, it's been you. Coming to me, taunting me, disappearing... except last time you threw in a twist and stayed for long enough that we ended up in bed." He twisted his head and stared at Ethan. "Payback time. And here we go again." 

All of it just made Ethan... tired. He went over to Rupert, sitting down on the chair beside his but making no attempt to touch him. "So we just keep on doing the same old thing time and again?" he asked wearily. He knew that Rupert was right -- that he'd been trying to pay Rupert back for having left him that first time, that he'd never forgiven him for it. But he didn't know how to let it go. He just wasn't built that way, and to expect him to embrace a possible future together with open arms and no fear... he couldn't do that, either. "I do appreciate what you're trying to do, Rupert. It's not easy. I don't want to wake up tomorrow morning -- or two mornings from now, or a week from now -- to find you've gone back to your old life. I don't want to be an interlude." 

"I will be going back to my old life," Rupert said. "I never left it. Taking a few days -- a week -- whatever -- to help save your life, and God knows how many others, given what was happening when you lost control-- that's what I've been doing for years. Saving the world. Nice work, if you can get it." He turned his head to look at Ethan, looking older, looking... old. "I'm not going anywhere, Ethan. Back to Sunnydale if Buffy needs me, yes, but that's not likely, and I don't suppose you're being literal." 

Ethan didn't know what Rupert was saying. "So where, exactly, does that leave me?" 

Rupert sighed. "Dealing with my selfishness when you've got enough on your plate." He shook his head as if he was trying to clear it. "Damn. Maudlin. You're right. Sorry." His lips twisted into an apologetic smile. "And you still haven't -- oh well. I suppose asking you to forgive me and try again killed the mood fairly effectively, didn't it?" 

"I don't think you're selfish," Ethan said. That was, in fact, one thing that he was quite certain of. "Although yes, the mood does seem to be most sincerely dead." He leant back in his chair, looking at Rupert. "I am glad that we ran into each other again, and not just because you seem to be such an effective lightning rod to my storm. We had a lot of good times together, didn't we?" 

Rupert relaxed a little. "We did. I suppose I should be grateful that at the moment there's nothing stopping us having more in the future as we're getting along, for the most part." He smiled at Ethan, looking a little less strained. "Feel free to celebrate; you've managed to walk back into my life and turn it upside down, just the way you like it." 

What Ethan liked was to know that he had the _power_ to turn Rupert's world upside down. Actually doing it was a secondary sort of pleasure which in no way measured up to the first. "Is it really all that bad?" he asked curiously, trying to grasp a concept as personally foreign to him as the cessation of the existence of gravity would have been to Sir Isaac Newton. "Do you hate surprises that much?" 

"Such as the waking up as a demon variety of surprises?" Rupert asked dryly. "Well, yes, I do rather. That can't be news to you." 

"I was speaking more generally," Ethan said. "It's a shame, really; not being able to see the beauty in the way things change. In the sheer, if you'll excuse the term, chaos of it all." He'd always thought that was one of the reasons Rupert liked him; because of his ability to rejoice in the midst of confusion. 

"I can accept that there's something good and natural in growth," Rupert replied. "Even though it leads inevitably to decay and death, not to be morbid about it." He gave Ethan a challenging look. "But you force changes; make things chaotic deliberately; there's nothing beautiful about that. It's..." He hesitated, and then said with a helpless shrug, "Messy. It's messy, and that bothers me." 

"I think I've seen you enjoy messy a time or two," Ethan said. He _wanted_ to understand what Rupert was feeling. "I don't want you to be unhappy, Ripper. I've never wanted that. And I think you might find that I've mellowed with age, but I certainly wouldn't try to convince you that I've changed completely. I haven't. I doubt I ever will." 

"You make it sound as if I'm very boring," Rupert said without heat. "Don't I get any brownie points for fighting demons at my advanced age and pulling off some pretty impressive spells in the last few years?" He grimaced. "Don't answer that. I'm sure you'd have been cheering for the demons." He shifted his chair so that they were facing each other. "I think we've both mellowed a little. To the point where seeing you again didn't inspire me solely with the desire to punch first, ask questions later." 

"I wouldn't have been cheering for the demons," Ethan said quietly. He wasn't quite ready to admit that he regretted the way things had turned out the last time he and Rupert had been together, not when he knew he'd been well punished for it regardless of Rupert's intentions in turning him over to the Initiative. "Although I'm sure I would have enjoyed watching the fight." Feeling tired again, he rubbed his forehead, looking at Rupert with a sort of longing that he hoped didn't show in his eyes. "So what now? Do we work on this translation some more and get it over with?" 

"I suppose I should," Rupert said without enthusiasm. "Can't say that I want to, no matter how insistent Carlton is. It's very close to done, anyway; just needs to be finished and checked over. But there's no need for you to do it." His gaze sharpened. "You're feeling tired again, aren't you? Why don't you go and rest?" 

"You have until tomorrow, don't you? You could come lie down with me." Ethan was hopeful. 

"If I do, you won't get much rest," Rupert said. "Unless we zip the sleeping bags up this time." 

Rupert didn't sound as if he'd be easily persuaded. "It might do me some good to be close to you," Ethan said. "I can't be without my grounding element, after all." 

That got him a lifted eyebrow. "The bed's less than ten foot away; how much closer do I have to be?" Rupert sighed. "Ethan, if I get into bed with you, we'll end up naked, and then we'll end up arguing again. Unless this time I manage to make you come hard enough that you _don't_ say something annoying while I'm still feeling weak in the knees. Or is that a physical impossibility?" 

"We don't _have_ to argue," Ethan suggested. "And I don't think you being weak in the knees would be a problem if you were in bed with me. You'll notice that I'm not denying we'd likely end up naked." He slid his chair a bit closer to Rupert's and reached out to touch Rupert's arm, running his hand along it in something closer to affection than anything else. 

Rupert's hand covered his. "How about a negotiated compromise? I come to bed with you, and if -- oh God, why even bother with the 'if'? -- when we end up naked, with all that usually entails, you don't say anything afterwards apart from --" Rupert pursed his lips in thought. "Actually, nothing is fine. A speaking glance perhaps. I'm not ruling out a happy sigh either." 

Ethan grinned. "I think I can manage that." 

They both got up and went over toward the bed. On the same side of the bed he'd slept on the night before, Ethan hesitated. 

"Do we lie down with our clothes on and pretend there's a chance we might keep them on? Or are we just honest from the beginning and take them off now?" It was a light-hearted question, but Ethan felt as if he was asking a more serious one. 

Rupert hesitated and then walked around the bed to him. Without speaking he started to unbutton Ethan's shirt, his eyes locked on Ethan's face. On the third button, he paused, slid a hand behind Ethan's neck, and brought their mouths together in a kiss that obliterated the last twenty minutes of talking and took them back to how they'd been when they walked through the door, too aroused to even make it as far as the bed. 

There was a small sound like someone whimpering, and Ethan's hands caught in Rupert's shirt and held on as the kiss drew itself out, Rupert's lips teasing his so gently that he felt shaken. It was a completely different kind of kiss, reminiscent of a few times, years ago, when there'd been moments Ethan had believed Rupert loved him. 

The kiss ended, and Rupert allowed Ethan to pull back a bit. Ethan lifted a hand that, he told himself very sternly, did _not_ tremble, and rested it on Rupert's chest, blinking at him with wide eyes. 

"We might as well be honest," Rupert told him. "Because there's no point in pretending I don't want you." With his hand still around Ethan's neck, he went back to unfastening the buttons on Ethan's shirt, his mouth warm against Ethan's face and throat, kissing him gently, but with a rising urgency until the final button was undone, drawing more sounds from Ethan that he couldn't help but make. 

Everything about this was gentle; knowing, but gentle as if Rupert were aware that this meant a great deal and was trying to convince Ethan of it as well. And Ethan, little as he _wanted_ this to be meaningful, couldn't quite manage to sort out how to keep it casual. There was some part of him that yearned for it to be about more than just a quick fuck. Rupert's hands eased Ethan's shirt off, letting it fall to the floor, Rupert's mouth sliding down across Ethan's collar bone in a wet, stuttering path than mimicked Ethan's shaky breathing. "Rupert..." He couldn't say more than that. 

Rupert gave him a quick glance as if to reassure himself that Ethan wasn't telling him to stop, smiled, and reached down to deal with Ethan's belt, managing to ease it open one-handed. His other hand was moving over Ethan's back in long, sweeping caresses, his fingernails dragging against Ethan's skin with just enough force not to tickle, not enough to hurt. It made Ethan feel like the cat at the pub must have felt; he wanted to arch into that touch, to writhe and beg for more, for it not to stop. 

It wasn't that Rupert hadn't undressed him before, of course. But what Ethan remembered was fevered, eager kisses and the clothes being nearly, and sometimes actually, torn from him. They'd had a tendency to fall down onto the floor and fuck right there, shouting out their release minutes after Ripper had pushed that hard cock into him. 

This was different. It made Ethan feel as if his skin was being peeled off along with his clothing, leaving him raw, open, nerve endings screaming. He whimpered and tugged at Rupert's shirt as his zipper was slid down one notch at a time, the pressure over his cock almost unbearable. 

"Stop that." Rupert whispered, bending his head and placing the first of three biting, sucking kisses along Ethan's shoulder, ending with a snatched nip of his teeth at Ethan's earlobe, still managing to make each touch unhurried and deliberate, although he was pressing his body against Ethan's with an eagerness that betrayed him. 

"Stop what?" Ethan managed, tilting his head automatically so that Rupert could drag sharp teeth along the side of his neck. 

"Trying to rush me," Rupert replied, doing just that, sending a shiver through Ethan as his body responded in the most primitive of ways to teeth so close to his throat. Rupert ended the slow, downward tug on the zip and flicked the button open before sliding his hand across Ethan's stomach, just above the waistband of his shorts, making him draw in a sharp breath. 

Ethan closed his eyes as Rupert leant in to kiss him again, catching his lips with a soft determination that made it clear Rupert wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer. That, of course, just made Ethan harder and more desperate. "I can't imagine how I ever gave you the idea I was capable of being patient," Ethan said, trying to hang onto the fragmenting remains of his detachment. 

"I can't imagine why you think that's relevant," Rupert said, with a glint of amusement in his eyes. "I'm not giving you a choice, you know." His hand, fingers spread wide, travelled up across Ethan's chest, though the soft, light drift of hair, finding a nipple and pinching it just hard enough leave Ethan's cock throbbing in sympathy. "And sadly, I'm not feeling as persuadable as I was an hour ago, for which you've only got yourself to blame." His hand went back to where it had been, scant inches away from Ethan's aching cock. "Did I say thank you for that, by the way?" 

"I think we got a bit too wrapped up in arguing," Ethan said, sliding his own hand up underneath Rupert's untucked shirt in the back and touching bare skin as a grateful distraction to what was being done to him. 

He was gratified by the way that had Rupert's jaw tightening as he bit back a soft sound of pleasure. "You're probably right." Rupert hooked his fingers inside the waistband of Ethan's shorts and moved them across until his fingertips brushed against the head of Ethan's cock, lingering there, stroking through the small pool of wetness gathering at the tip with a maddeningly light touch. "Thank you, Ethan." 

"Believe me," Ethan said, his breathing coming a bit more quickly now as Rupert's fingers teased him, "the pleasure was all mine." He didn't think Rupert wanted him to beg, but he wondered if he ought to give it a try just in case. "Please..." 

Rupert's hand moved away again, which really wasn't the result he'd been hoping for although watching Rupert lick his fingers clean, his eyes on Ethan as his tongue lapped thoughtfully at the glisten of precome, was a good consolation prize. 

"Please what?" Rupert asked, stepping back and starting to unbutton his own shirt. "Please hurry? Aren't you enjoying this?" 

He'd forgotten this teasing, playful mood of Rupert's, and he didn't think he'd ever learned a way to deal with it that got him fucked quickly rather than left frustrated for far too long. 

"I'd be enjoying it more if I weren't so convinced that you'd be perfectly happy to continue all day, night, and into tomorrow without increasing the pace." Ethan reached out to help Rupert undo his shirt, unsure if he'd be allowed, and was a bit surprised when Rupert didn't comment, just let him unbutton from the bottom up. As the shirt slipped from Rupert's left shoulder, Ethan moved half a step closer and pressed his lips to the bare skin there, tasting it, inhaling Rupert's scent. It made him feel nearly giddy. 

"I think you're overestimating my self-control," Rupert said, sounding a little breathless himself as he shrugged out of his shirt, moving carefully so that Ethan could carry on kissing him. "Which is weakening rapidly, I'm sorry to say." 

"Does that mean you're going to fuck me?" Ethan asked, paying particular attention to the little hollow of skin beside Rupert's throat 

"I was always going to do that," Rupert said, sounding nicely distracted. "Just a matter of when --" He took a deep breath as Ethan continued his exploration of Rupert's skin. "You're entirely too good at this. Stop while I just --" He moved back and kicked off his shoes and then got out of what was left of his clothes, with Ethan following his example. 

With a gloriously nude Rupert standing in front of him, Ethan found himself suddenly unable to do much more than stare appreciatively, drinking in the sight of the man. If anything, Rupert was more beautiful than he'd been when he was younger, and Ethan ached for him but felt strangely hesitant now that things were progressed to this point. 

"You're looking at me as if you've changed your mind about the need to rush," Rupert said. He looked a little unsure himself, Ethan noticed. "If you're about to tell me that in daylight I've lost my appeal, I won't be able to say the same about you." He stepped forward, brushing his hand down Ethan's arm. "Ethan -- let me \-- please --" 

Ethan swallowed, grateful for the renewed contact between them, reaching to smooth his own hand over Rupert's hip as their eyes met. "You don't need to ask. You can do anything." 

"Apart from make you wait?" Rupert said, his lips curving in a smile as he relaxed again and placed his hand in the small of Ethan's back, pulling them closer together so that Ethan's cock lay in the hollow of Rupert's hip, even that small stimulus making him feel a tingle of arousal. "And what I want to do is fuck you \--" Rupert's forehead creased with sudden concern. "Except we still can't. Damn." 

Ethan knew exactly what Rupert was talking about. He also knew that the solution lay in a small packet at the bottom of his bag that contained not only condoms but lubricant as well. What he didn't know was how Rupert would react to being told that these things were staples that he took everywhere with him, 'just in case.' The last thing he wanted just now, with Rupert's warm bare skin rubbing against his own, was to set off another round of accusations and non-apologies. 

Trying to decide what to do, Ethan slid both hands slowly down Rupert's back and over his arse, grabbing hold. "Now, now. Don't fuss. We'll think of something, won't we? We always have." 

"I'm not going on a search through cupboards to find something vaguely slippery," Rupert replied, sounding just the smallest bit petulant, which made Ethan smile. It was nice to be wanted, and even nicer to have Rupert the one doing the wanting. Then Rupert tilted his hips so that his cock rubbed against Ethan's stomach, hard and hot and promising, and Ethan stopped smiling, gritting his teeth as he rode out a surge of uncomplicated lust. It was all right for Ripper, he thought, feeling a little aggrieved. He'd already come once, after all. 

Bugger it. Ethan wanted Rupert to fuck him, and if admitting that he had the means available made Rupert angry, so much the better. He'd always liked it rough. 

"If I'm not mistaken, there's lube in my bag," he said, turning away with some reluctance, well aware that he was giving Rupert a clear view of his naked arse as he bent over and rummaged through said bag. "Condoms, too, if you feel the need. I've found it pays to be prepared. I'd have missed out on quite a lot of fun recently if I hadn't been." He was equally aware that he sounded casual, unconcerned. 

His hand closed around the lube and he straightened, but never got the chance to turn around. Rupert was there, right behind him, one hand reaching around to prise the small bottle from Ethan's grip, the other wrapping around Ethan's body, pulling him backwards so that his arse was snug against Rupert's cock. 

"Don't move," Rupert said very clearly into his ear. "And don't say another bloody word if you want this in you." He bit down on Ethan's shoulder, making it hurt this time, bringing his hand down to give Ethan's cock a rough, casual caress, flicking his thumb over the tip. "Is this what you want?" he asked. "Is this what you expect when you make these... preparations?" His hand started to work Ethan's cock in slow, tight strokes. "Ask me to fuck you, Ethan." 

Ethan groaned, pressing his arse back against Rupert's cock and then forward again into the tight grip of his hand. "Fuck me," he gasped, frantic for more and willing to do whatever it took to get it. "Please, Ripper." 

Rupert gave Ethan's cock one final pump and released it, stepping back. "You've used quite a lot of this, Ethan," he said in a conversational voice, the small click of the bottle lid opening very clear in the silence. Ethan didn't answer. He'd give Rupert that much obedience for now. Rebellions could be amusing, but he'd learned how to time them, and Rupert didn't seem to need a helpful push at the moment. "Still plenty left though." 

The cool drizzle of lube against his arse was sudden enough to make him gasp, but he managed to stay quiet, his hands itching to touch Rupert, his cock jerking with every breath. Then Rupert's fingers scooped up the trickle of liquid running down his arse and worked it into his opening, hand spreading him wide as what felt like Rupert's middle finger pushed into him without the slightest hesitation or fumbling. 

Ethan groaned as Rupert slid his finger deeper, arching his back for more. His skin felt too tight, too hot as if it might split open if he didn't get to come. At that thought, his cock gave a tremendous jolt, a thin slick of precome wetting the tip. 

Before Ethan could blink, Rupert's other hand come around and clamped onto the base of his cock. "Oh, no," Rupert said, tightening his grip so that there was no possible way Ethan could find release. "I don't think so." 

Squirming, Ethan complained, "You're not playing fair." 

"I'm not playing." There was nothing in Rupert's voice to contradict that, and it was said with an indifference that made it work better as a threat than anger would have. "If you come before I'm in you, I won't be happy, Ethan," Rupert warned. "There's impatience, and there's lack of control. One's forgivable. The other isn't." 

He withdrew his finger until only the tip was inside and then said softly, "Let's try that again, shall we?" before pushing it back in, a fast, hard jab that tore a harsh cry from Ethan because it was both too much and not enough. 

Ethan was grateful for Rupert's hand on his cock then because if it hadn't been there, it was entirely possible that he would have come. Or if not then, a moment later, when Rupert withdrew and thrust his finger in again. It was torture -- amazing, spectacular torture, and Ethan loved every moment of it. "Ripper... God, yes." 

Rupert gave the back of his neck an open-mouthed kiss, the flick of his tongue setting off a shiver that raised every hair on Ethan's body. "I want you on the bed now, Ethan. When I let go of you, do try and remember that you're not to come just yet." The promise implicit in the words was enough to send another of the dangerously arousing shivers over him. Then Rupert murmured, "Hands and knees, please, Ethan," and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to block out the memories and the expectation of what was to come. 

He obeyed without a word, the only thing slowing him down the fact that his legs were a bit shaky. He knew his stamina was nothing like it had been when he was younger -- he just wasn't physically capable, not with the way things had been -- but he was determined to do everything he could to make this count. 

As far as he knew, there wouldn't be another chance. 

On his hands and knees on the bed, his cock painfully hard between his legs, Ethan waited. 

And if he'd ever wanted proof that Rupert didn't hate him -- and he had wanted that, he'd prayed for it but not to any God that would care -- he got it when Rupert left him like that for a bare, split second, long enough to look at him, long enough to have a picture to keep, but not long enough to matter. 

And then Rupert's hands were on him, impatient, wanting hands, running over him from shoulders to hips and Rupert's cock, slicked and so very fucking hard, was easing into him with a surprising gentleness that he didn't need but didn't protest because it felt so perfect, so _right_ to have Rupert in him again that he was willing to wait until Rupert thought he was ready to be fucked. 

Ethan drew a shuddering breath. He was grateful for the support of the mattress underneath him, firm and solid, even though he really couldn't feel it. The only parts of his body that felt alive were the ones that Rupert was touching as if he'd been nothing but stone all this time and was only now becoming real now that he was shabby and bits of his fur had been worn off. He shifted slightly backward, feeling the stretch as Rupert's cock slid half an inch deeper, and closed his eyes. Still waiting. 

As if that tiny shift, that evidence of his need coupled with his silence was all it took to take the edge off Rupert's -- well, he didn't really think Rupert was angry with him. No, it was more complicated than that and truth be told, possessive jealousy wasn't a bad look on Rupert as far as he was concerned. Ethan was still a little puzzled and distrustful about Rupert's apparent need to organise their future, but this, no, he wasn't puzzled about why he was positioned like this. Rupert was... claiming him. And part of him loved it. 

And then the hands on his hips dug into his skin and Rupert ended the waiting with a slow, deep thrust that left Ethan filled for one perfect moment as Rupert's breath caught on a sound half growl, half sob. 

He didn't stay, though. Of course he couldn't stay. Rupert had to pull back, sliding away from Ethan and almost completely out before surging forward again. They began to find a rhythm, one in which Ethan's participation was more a hindrance than a help as he moved with Rupert each time the man withdrew. Rupert fucked him with a practiced skill, sharp thrusts that dragged across sensitive nerve endings and made Ethan groan loudly. In the second or two between thrusts, Ethan gasped Ripper's name, the word sounding a bit like a plea. He didn't care if he came or didn't come, so long as Rupert didn't stop. 

He could smell their scents on the quilt beneath him, each breath bringing him the raw, male tang of sweat and sex. His skin was flushed and hot, reddened and chafed where Rupert's fingers were tight against him, and his wrists and knees were aching as he braced himself against the onslaught as Rupert began to fuck him harder, giving him just what he wanted. 

One of the hands on him, anchoring him, holding him in place, moved, and Ethan shut his eyes, knowing what was to come and close to regretting it. He could hold back his own release if it meant enjoying this deep, hard stroking from Rupert, and he'd been aroused for so long now that the prospect of an end to the torment had become hazy and distant, but one touch on his cock, no matter how light -- and he doubted Rupert was capable of a refinement like that anyway, not now -- and he'd come, and all the good intentions in the world wouldn't help. 

He whimpered as he felt Rupert's fingers curl around his swollen flesh, shoving his cock forward into the tight grip despite his best intentions to remain passive. It was too much. Rupert's cock rubbing deep inside him, Rupert's hand stroking him, left Ethan with nothing to do but cry out harshly as he came in a series of almost-painful spurts, his release slicking Rupert's fingers. 

He could feel himself clench around Rupert as his climax poured through and over him, ripping control from his hands and leaving him only able to hold position long enough for the final three thrusts Rupert gave him because of Rupert's grip on him, one hand still on his hip, the other moving to his thigh. 

Three strokes, with Rupert starting to come on the first, slamming into him fast enough that the next two blurred together, with Rupert shouting out as he began to spill into Ethan, his cock deep inside him. 

Ethan's arms couldn't support him any longer -- he collapsed forward into what was surely an ungainly position, arse in the air and Rupert's hands still tight on his hip and thigh as he jerked out the last of his orgasm into Ethan. The blanket was rough against Ethan's cheek, his entire body humming with pleasure and limp with exhaustion. 

Rupert eased out of him with a sigh that came close to being a whimper and rolled Ethan to his side before lying down behind him. His arm went around Ethan's waist, pulling him close with a sublime disregard for the inevitable mess they were in, and they stayed like that in a rare, contented silence for a minute or two. Then Ethan took a breath, preparing to speak, and Rupert's hand moved up to cover his mouth in a warning. 

"I wasn't joking about being careful what you said," Rupert told him mildly, letting his hand drift back down. 

"What about 'Glad to see you haven't lost your touch?'" Ethan asked cautiously, putting his arm over Rupert's where it hugged his waist. 

Rupert chuckled and Ethan felt the brief, always welcome touch of Rupert's lips against his back. "I suppose I can't really complain about that without seeming churlish. Thank you, and I'll return the compliment." 

He eased back and brushed his mouth over Ethan's shoulder, over skin that Ethan realised was sore and stinging from Rupert's teeth. "Sorry," he murmured. "I think that's going to leave a bruise." 

Ethan squirmed around, wanting to see Rupert's face. "I don't mind," he said. He leant in and kissed Rupert, doing what very well might have been called snuggling up to him despite the rather cold and sticky spot he was lying in. "Am I allowed to tell you that I wouldn't mind doing this more often?" 

"You're allowed to be as annoying as you like now my heartbeat's returned to normal," Rupert told him, giving him a lazily satisfied smile. "And we can do this as often as you like." His eyes narrowed. "Although if pissing me off becomes a regular part of our foreplay I might change my mind about that. Was that really necessary?" 

"It got us both what we wanted, didn't it?" Ethan asked, sliding a hand along Rupert's chest and tracing one fingertip around a nipple. He squirmed a bit, feeling the ache that had resulted from their eager coupling. "I got fucked, and you didn't have to worry about anything but the moment." Of course, that hadn't quite stopped Ethan from worrying about what would happen after this, little as he wanted to. 

"I _wanted_ \-- oh, never mind." Rupert gave Ethan what was presumably meant to be a stern look, the effect of which was lessened when Ethan dragged his finger across Rupert's ribs, making him squirm. "Yes, that's still ticklish -- full marks for remembering. Now stop it." Rupert captured his hand and kissed him, which as reprisals went was less than effective. "Going to tie you up next time," Rupert murmured between kisses, sounding, sadly, less than serious. " _And_ gag you, and then perhaps I'll be able to take my time over fucking you." 

There was a lift of hope that Rupert was talking about 'next time,' and Ethan slid his arm around Rupert and held on as they continued to kiss. "You know I don't mind being tied up," he said. "And somehow I don't think I was the only one who enjoyed it." Carefully, paying attention to Rupert's response, he suggested, "When we go back to London we could experiment with it a bit. See how it suits us." 

There was a pause and Rupert pulled back a little, studying Ethan, who tried to keep his face clear of anything resembling anxiety or hope. 

"Perhaps we could," Rupert said finally, his voice cautious as though he wasn't sure how they'd moved to this point. Ethan wasn't sure himself, and he wondered if once the glow had worn off he'd regret making even this much of a commitment to a shared future. Rupert's hand cupped his face gently. "Are you just being kind to me here? Because you'd made it fairly clear you weren't interested in giving me a second chance. And I wouldn't have thought sex, no matter how spectacular, was enough to change your mind." He smiled. "I know exactly how stubborn you are, you see." 

Ethan's lungs felt tight, too small as though they'd been stuck together with some sort of glue and had to fight to expand. This was why he hadn't wanted to dance even this close to the subject; not when he felt all sorts of horrid, inappropriate things like hope. "I might not be averse to trying again," he said, searching Rupert's eyes for what the other man was thinking. "If I thought there was a chance things might turn out differently this time." 

"Everything's different," Rupert said. "But I think that's a good sign when it comes to us. And I'm feeling suddenly happy, which is a terrible one." He grinned at Ethan. "Sorry. Too long on the Hellmouth." 

Some of Ethan's anxiety faded, and he stroked his hand down along Rupert's back to his arse. "Not everything," he said. "You're still an incredible shag, for instance." Ruefully, he added, "Although my ability to go another round immediately has definitely gone the way of the dodo." 

Rupert rolled to his back and gave a heartfelt groan of agreement. "God, yes. I'm astonished I, ah, rose to the occasion twice in as many hours. Feel free to take that as a testimonial to your charms." He yawned. "And shagged out is more like it. Why don't you take the first shower and then we can move on to the resting part of the afternoon's entertainment?" He craned his head and gave Ethan an appraising but affectionate look. "You look as if you need it." 

"That's your way of telling me I look old, isn't it," Ethan said, but he got up, looking at the soiled quilt with distaste. "If you're sure you don't mind?" 

Rupert just waved a hand at him, yawning again, so Ethan went off to the shower, grateful for the hot water. Still, he didn't linger. He wasn't quite convinced that it was possible for things to go smoothly for the two of them, and that meant he wanted to wallow in the good times while they lasted. 

He got back to find the bed remade and Rupert looking a little more awake and sitting at the table wearing a robe. "You were quick. Does that mean the hot water ran out?" 

"Yes," Ethan said dryly. "Do go and take your turn now so that I can laugh at your shrieks." He draped his towel on the windowsill and quickly pulled on some clothes, feigning that he was colder than he actually was. There was still steam wafting into the rest of the cottage through the opened bathroom door. "The water heater's quite large. Probably enough hot water in there for more than a lonely, single man's shower." 

He wasn't implying anything immediate, of course, but in the morning it might be nice to share a wash, if things were still going well then. 

Rupert finished gathering up his own towel and toiletries and walked over to him, tucking them under his arm. "Only probably? Well, if it runs out, perhaps tomorrow we could share one? In the interests of saving water and keeping you well and truly grounded of course. Nothing to do with my aversion to cold water." He stepped closer and pushed his fingers through Ethan's wet hair before kissing him. "And nothing to do with wanting to remind myself how you feel when you're naked and wet." 

Ethan melted into Rupert's embrace, letting their bodies touch down the length of them. It felt wonderful even if they _were_ both fully clothed. "You know I'm very concerned with conservation," he said, trying to sound serious. "Especially of things like hot water. And body heat." 

"Doesn't sound very like you," Rupert murmured, dropping what he was holding to the floor and wrapping both his arms around Ethan. "But as long as I get my back scrubbed..." He nuzzled against Ethan's neck. "You smell clean," he said with a sigh. "I'm filled with envy. Right. Shower." He stepped back, giving Ethan a look that held more than a little conflict. "Would you mind if I got on with this translation when I get out? I'm sure you'll be asleep by then anyway." 

Ethan couldn't help but be annoyed that Rupert would rather work on some stupid translation, although the conflicted look _was_ a bit gratifying, and he was rather weary. "Yes, you finish that up," he said. "Then we can get on with more important pursuits. Me, for example." 

Rupert bent down to pick up his towel and things. "I can't pursue you unless you run away. I'd really rather you didn't do that." He straightened and smiled at Ethan. "Please don't. And I _do_ want to finish this." He moved close enough to give Ethan another kiss. "If only so I can give you my full, uninterrupted attention." 

The warmth in his eyes was promising enough to make Ethan's mild irritation fade away. 

"All right," Ethan said. "Off you go." 

Rupert went into the bathroom and started up the shower. The sound of the water running tempted Ethan to go in and join him, but he really _was_ exhausted, and the bed looked so tempting... He pulled down the quilt and crawled in between it and the sleeping bags, thinking that he'd only lie his head on the pillow for a minute or two... 

Then he was waking up. The cottage was dark -- the only light was the faint flickering of the fire and the lantern Rupert had sat on the kitchen table, where he was bent over a pile of books and papers. Ethan hitched himself up onto one elbow and rubbed at his face blearily. "How long have you been at it?" he asked. 

"Long enough to have just finished," Rupert said, pushing his chair back from the table. "I've still got to read it again and get a feel for it as a whole though. By the end I was just translating it word-for-word and not paying much attention to the sense of it." He stood up, stretching his arms and wincing. "And long enough to miss a proper desk and a comfortable chair." He glanced over at Ethan. "You were fast asleep by the time I got out; how do you feel now?" 

"Like I slept in my clothes," Ethan said, pulling back the covers and sitting up. "I've really been doing that far too much lately." He looked down at himself, feeling slightly off and not sure why. "I didn't mean to fall asleep." 

"You needed it," Rupert told him. "And you didn't miss a thing, I promise." He began to stack up the papers and books. "I'll get these out of the way and see about some food. How hungry are you feeling?" 

Ethan frowned, slipping his feet into his shoes as the wooden floor was on the chilly side. "I don't know. There's..." Something was definitely wrong. For a few seconds, he thought it was with him, but then he realised that it wasn't. "Hang on." Getting up, Ethan went to the front window and looked out. 

An expensive-looking silver car was parked behind their rental car. As Ethan stared at it he felt his unease deepen. Why would a car like that be here of all places? And why was it standing empty, with no sign of a driver? 

"Bugger," Ethan said, backing away quickly, hoping he hadn't been seen by anyone lurking in the shadows. "Rupert, I think we've got a visitor or two. The kind you don't bake a cake for." 

Rupert dropped the papers he was holding, responding, Ethan thought, less to that odd feeling of wrongness than his agitation. It didn't matter. Rupert was too old a hand at this to waste time on reassuring him that it was probably nothing and they just wanted directions. 

"Do you think it's connected with what you've been doing?" Rupert asked. His face went still, a cold anger in his voice. "The Initiative? Because if it is --" He came to Ethan's side, slipping a hand inside his arm in a brief, reassuring squeeze before looking around. "Did you see how many there are?" 

"I didn't see anyone," Ethan said, shaking his head. "Not in the car, not outside." The suggestion that this could have something to do with the Initiative started a deep, resonant fear burning low in his belly, a fear that he couldn't ignore. He turned and spotted Rupert's cell phone on the table, and without thinking, reached for it. Almost before his fingers made contact, the small piece of plastic sizzled, a thin wisp of smoke coming up as he shorted it out. "Bugger!" His eyes sought Rupert's. 

Rupert shrugged, moving close and clasping Ethan's hand in what might have been a safety measure but helped Ethan to damp down the flare of panic a little. "Who were you going to call, anyway?" he said gently. "We're on our own, I think." He glanced around the bare room. "No weapons. No back door. I think we should try to get to the car." He pulled on his jacket, tossing Ethan his, and took out the car keys. "Ready?" 

Before either of them could do anything more, there was the splintering sound and slam of the door being kicked in, and three men dressed in dark clothing came rushing into the cottage. It was, Ethan thought later, fortunate that he and Rupert had known something was going on beforehand. Otherwise, it was difficult to say how things might have turned out. As it was, everything happened very quickly. The men had guns, and one was clasping a short piece of rope in a gloved hand. That was all it took to get a reaction from Ethan as two of them moved toward Rupert, seemingly more intent on him than on Ethan. 

The anger that rose up at the idea of Rupert being threatened didn't replace Ethan's fear for his own well-being, but it shoved it aside long enough for him to act. Rupert was already moving, putting the table in between himself and the two men and hooking his fingers under it as he prepared to shove it against them. Which was a fine idea, Ethan thought, feeling oddly detached, his mind working quickly with a clarity driven by necessity, but the guns changed things somewhat. Obviously the idea wasn't to kill them, or in these close quarters they'd already be dead. They wanted Rupert, and they wanted him alive. 

Of course, the same didn't necessarily hold true for him. 

Ethan turned his attention to the man in front of him and smiled. The gun was pointing at him, held in a steady hand, but there was wariness in the pale-grey eyes. The man looked... capable, Ethan thought. Not overly muscled, but strong, and at thirty or so, in the prime of his life. 

Pity it was about to end. 

He reached for the magic, which had been building up for some time now. It was ready to be used -- no, not ready, _eager_ , straining for release -- and Ethan was more than ready to use it. Or, he thought as he felt it explode from him, to be used by it. The first bolt of power hit the man in front of him. He was, Ethan was quite sure, dead before he even collapsed. The expression on the man's face went from wary to shocked in less than a heartbeat, and then to nothing at all as he went down. Before Ethan could think, he was turning to the other men, both of whom were looking in his direction now that they'd identified him as a potential source of difficulty. The magic jolted the one on the left so hard that the gun flew from his hand in an arc that seemed to Ethan to be almost in slow motion. The man on the right had enough time to shout as he died, the smell of burning flesh acrid in the air of the small cottage. And then the payback arrived, the crackle of energy surrounding Ethan. There was no doubt in his mind that it was going to be bad. 

He turned to Rupert. If he'd just sacrificed himself he was damned if he was going to die without seeing the reason why he'd done it without regret just one last time. 

Although he did have regrets -- too many to waste time on now \-- saving Rupert, no matter what the cost, would never be one of them. Odd, that. He'd never really considered himself the hero type. 

Rupert was moving, coming for him, coming at him, but Ethan put up a hand to ward him off. This was too much; no spring storm, light rain pattering, thunder rumbling as it had been when he'd done the spell to turn stone to sand, shifting cool through his fingers. This was tempest and flood, destruction and fire, searing, white-hot and deadly. He wasn't sure Rupert would survive being close to him, but he knew he'd never live if they touched. 

Then he realised his mistake; what Rupert would think he was asking for with that imploring hand held out. He tried to draw it back, but it was too late. As he started to scream, feeling every part of his body fill with pain, unendurable and intense, Rupert's hand touched his. Touched, clung, held on. 

And then it was Rupert's throat that was torn with agony, screams ripped from it, while Ethan watched and heard and waited for it to end, struggling to free himself from a grip that he couldn't break. 

After that came the silence, and Rupert's fingers loosened as he fell. 

They collapsed to the floor together, Ethan doing his pitiful best to cushion Rupert from the impact with the hard surface beneath them. His elbow connected with the wooden floor first, sending a jolt of near-electric pain along his arm, but he barely felt it. Feverishly, he touched Rupert's face. "Rupert? Rupert?" There was no response, but a trembling hand pressed to the man's chest revealed a heartbeat, and he seemed to be breathing normally. He was deeply unconscious, though. 

Ethan's own breath was short, spasm-like as he tried to think. His eyes darted about the room and fell on one of the bodies of the men that had come after them, and he stumbled to his feet, going to each man in turn to be sure that they were truly dead before staggering over to the bed and grabbing a pillow and the quilt for Rupert. He moved Rupert carefully into a more comfortable position, pillow cushioning the man's head and the quilt over him for warmth. Rupert had slept for at least two hours after the last incident. He might be out for even longer this time. The question that kept running its way through Ethan's brain was 'why?' They seemed to have wanted Rupert, but not dead, although perhaps that was just a fanciful notion Ethan had latched onto. He went over to the closest body again and searched it, coming up with a mobile phone. With shaking hands that hadn't enough magic left in them to short out the phone, he worked his way through various menus, looking for something, anything that would make sense of this. He stopped when he reached the letter 'C.' C for Carlton. Ethan moved to the table and the finished translation, Rupert's paperwork in careful order. It didn't take long for him to sort out what he needed to do. 

* * * * *

Waking was a transition from nothing to an awareness of self. That much was done for Giles; opening his eyes he had to do himself, and it was astonishingly difficult. He could feel the darkness waiting to claim him again, and even as tired as he was, he fought it. The softness under his head told him that he was in bed as did the light weight of a cover, but this bed was hard and cold. Wood. He was lying on wood. 

For a horrifying moment, he decided he was dead, coffined, and underground, but the jolt of panic was worth it because his eyes opened and with the first sight of his surroundings, lamp-lit and if not familiar, known, he remembered. 

_Ethan_. 

Standing there, wrapped in magic, glorious and deadly and dying, his hand extended. Giles relived the shock of touching that hand, feeling the power -- God, so much power! -- flow through him. Once they'd touched, the power had shut off. He'd felt it, light-switch sudden, but there was still the matter of the power already suffusing Ethan's body, shaking it, searing it, killing it. He'd taken it from Ethan, sent it away and Ethan had stopped -- 

"Ethan?" 

It came out as a hoarse croak and he tried again, struggling to sit, his head swimming. "Ethan!" 

His gaze fell on the three bodies and he shuddered with reaction, his skin crawling. Empty, indifferent eyes -- the guns -- he saw the rope still clutched in a dead hand and frowned. Capture, not kill? And himself the target? The added confusion was more than he could deal with right now, but he had to think... 

Dragging himself up, he sat down at the table, propping his head on his hand and taking deep breaths. The glass of water he'd been drinking as he worked earlier was a few inches away and he reached for it, gulping it down thirstily and feeling the fatigue slip back just a little. 

The table was messy, papers strewn across it, books left open, and he frowned because he was sure he'd started to tidy them up just before the men arrived. One sheet of paper caught his eye because it wasn't his handwriting. 

He knew whose it was though. 

> Rupert --
> 
> I'm hoping to be back before you come to, but in case I'm not, don't worry. I know that asking you not to worry is like requesting that the sky cease to be blue, but try. I'll keep this short -- it was your client Carlton who sent these men after you, and his intentions in having you translate this spell were a bit more complicated than working one language into another. You'll see what I mean when you read the last stanza of the spell with a little more attention to the details. I've gone to take care of it. 
> 
> You've saved me, after all. I think it's time I return the favour. 
> 
> \-- Ethan

Still trying to absorb this, Giles looked at the bottom of the page, where Ethan had underlined the final section heavily, scrawling, 'I believe this would be you?' in the margin. 

_Deliver unto me, whole, the one who speaks these words. Mine is to rend him asunder and claim his soul; yours, his quartered body buried deep, becomes the cornerstones of your dwelling and its protection._

It didn't make sense at first until he saw the book beside it, open at a page showing an illustration of a man with a knife in one hand and a small dog in the other. The spell as he'd determined, was a variant of a Babylonian one, designed to keep a house, and the owner, safe from harm. It was common for a small blood sacrifice to be made to the gods in exchange for the protection. Giles had wondered if Mr. Carlton would take authenticity that far, or settle for sprinkling some blood, purchased from a butcher's shop, on the doorstep. 

Of course, when you were getting your protection from Eshkath, it might be a case of accept no substitutes. 

Giles felt like an idiot, and absurdly, rather hurt. He'd thought Mr. Carlton a little odd, but they'd got on with each other well enough. Finding out that the man had been waiting to have him torn into four pieces as soon as he'd finished the translation was a little disconcerting to say the least. 

Standing up, he went to the window. The rental car was still there, but the car the men had come in was missing. 

He didn't know how much of a head start Ethan had, but a glance at his watch, still ticking despite what had happened, which he put down to it being an old-fashioned, wound-by-hand one, showed he'd been unconscious for almost two hours. Carlton's house wasn't easy to find; deep in the country and an hour's drive at least. He could hope that it would take Ethan a while to find him and that reading the spell had slowed Ethan down, but it wasn't much reassurance; not when he was picturing Ethan, weakened and angry, unleashing his power and then going through the inevitable backlash with no one to help him. 

Giles realised that he was shaking, caught between anger and fear. Not all of the anger was directed at Carlton, either. If Ethan died doing this, he'd bloody well bring him back just to tell him what he thought of people who played the lone hero -- 

Rubbing a hand over his blurred, stinging eyes and bringing it away wet, he picked up one of the guns and shoved it into his pocket. The other two weapons he left, although he wished Ethan had had the sense to take one of them himself. He bent to pick up his car keys from the floor, avoiding looking at the blankly staring eyes of one of the corpses, whose out-flung hand was inches from the key ring. Then something stirred in his memory and he knelt and looked more closely at the man. 

Three days earlier they'd stood side-by-side at a bar and listened to an old man babble. 

Giles didn't know for how long he'd been watched by Carlton's men but the realisation that they'd been spying on him made him wish he hadn't dismissed his feeling that he was being followed so quickly. 

Scooping up the translation papers and the letter from Ethan with an instinctive caution, he left the cottage. 

He had a moment's fear as he turned the key in the ignition and wondered if the car would start, but it thrummed to life immediately. Giles had no care for the tyres or the underside of the vehicle as he pulled out of the rough parking spot and onto the rocky drive at a far greater speed than was wise or legal, the steering column giving a violent shudder when he hit a particularly large stone. 

Once he was out on the proper road again he was able to calm down a bit, concentrating on relaxing by taking deep breaths. He knew that getting himself into an accident wouldn't do Ethan any good, and he had to be reasonable if he wanted to get to Carlton's in one piece. 

He didn't think about what Ethan's chances were at surviving an encounter with Eshkath. If he had, he wouldn't have been able to stay in the proper frame of mind to drive. 

He'd driven to Carlton's house once before, to collect the papers that needed translating. The man had welcomed him, ushering him over the threshold with a greeting in a demonic language as archaic as it was poorly pronounced, and Giles had allowed himself to feel a little superior, a little scornful. Now he was wondering if that had been deliberate. He was certain that the essence of the spell was well known to the man who had professed no knowledge of it. 

To save himself from picturing Ethan's all-too-probable fate, he concentrated on remembering the spell. The portion Ethan had underlined he'd read, of course, giving it a cursory glance and God forgive him, translating it roughly as the equivalent of a thank you note, the typical afterthought so many spells had to round them off. He'd been more occupied with that tricky section in the middle, where it'd taken him two days to establish that there was a line missing from the top of one of the photocopied sheets he'd been given to work from. A corrected version had been supplied within the hour, accompanied by fulsome apologies... and now he suspected that had been in the nature of a test of his abilities. 

What Giles couldn't quite understand was why it had to be him who died. All he had to do was refuse to speak the words aloud and then -- He slammed his hand against the steering wheel, jarring it painfully as something snapped into place. 

"It isn't 'speaks these words'," he said aloud. "That would be 'targ'thin', not 'tarrish'thin'." He frowned, accelerating around a lorry. "Bringing? Creating? Crossing over?" Or at a stretch, translating from a demonic language to a human one? The trap he'd fallen into was only too clear now; by the time you found out the danger, it was too late; by the very act of translating the words, you'd sealed your fate. 

Which meant as the sacrifice had to be made at the place that needed protecting, heading towards it at all the speed he could coax out of the rental car wasn't very sensible. 

It wasn't as if he had a choice, though. 

By the time he'd got off the main road and onto the long, twisting one that led out to Carlton's house in the middle of nowhere, Giles had managed to force himself into a state where he was, outwardly, at least, tranquil. Prepared to deal with whatever needed to be dealt with, but determined to do it with minimal affect. 

It was best for all concerned. Get through the situation, and worry about one's reaction on the other side. 

Giles turned the car into the drive and started up the hill toward the house. There were lights on in the house, but as he stopped next to the car Ethan had borrowed, they went out suddenly, plunging everything into darkness. 

Damn. That wasn't good. 

Picking the gun up off the seat beside him, Giles got out of the car, leaving the keys in the ignition in case they needed to make a quick getaway. 

He eyed the front door and then shrugged. Why not? Easing it open, he stepped into a hall lit by nothing but the moon, currently playing hide-and-seek with the clouds. The shifting shadows and his own imperfect memory of the layout had him colliding with a chair within four steps, and he cursed as the clatter broke the silence. 

Then he heard a voice raised in supplication and he ran forward, heedless of anything but the need to get to Ethan because the voice had been Carlton's and he was damned if his well-deserved death was going to be what took Ethan from him. 

At the far end of the hall, Giles' foot hit something on the floor, something that was suspiciously soft and solid at the same time, and he lost his balance, landing hard on the cold marble and feeling the jolt of the impact in all his joints. Twice in one day, he thought, was really unfair for a man of his years, even as he scrambled to his feet again, turning as the moon came out from behind the clouds just in time to reveal that what he'd tripped on was another body, this one lying in a growing pool of blood. Another of Carlton's men by the look of it. 

He heard Carlton's voice again and followed blindly, stepping into a large, primarily empty room as something big enough to be a person was flung against the wall with a sickening crack before sliding down into the shadows. It didn't merit more attention, though because all of that was riveted on the demon standing in the centre of the room, its misshapen, powerful body over seven-foot high, and on Ethan, looking small in comparison. 

There was light here; from a fire kindled in a large fireplace, from candles scattered around the room. And from the circle around the demon, glowing faintly green. Too faintly. With alarm, Giles realised that whatever power had sealed the circle wasn't enough to keep the demon inside. He spared the body against the wall a glance. Carlton. Dead, and with his death the demon had gained power and lost... well, never its master. Its summoner, perhaps. 

Ethan was watching the demon, his head tilted to the side, his body taut, energy sparking from him, magic, and strong enough that Giles could taste it in the air. Blood was smeared across Ethan's face, dripping from his nose, a dark trickle of it coming from his ear. He was swaying slightly, smiling in a way Giles remembered from a dozen brawls. 

Moving carefully, quickly, Giles walked over to him. "Can you banish it?" he asked urgently. "Before the circle fails?" 

"One or the other, old chum," Ethan said as if this made perfect sense. The demon snarled and the house shook around them, a fine rain of plaster dust sifting down into their hair. "I can hold the circle or banish the demon. Not both." 

It was then that Giles realised Ethan was feeding energy into the circle as quickly as the demon was taking it back out; that the two of them were trapped in a cycle that had to end either when Ethan ran out of magic or when the backlash of having used it destroyed him. Or both. And Giles realised Ethan had to have entered into this cycle knowing that to do so meant his almost certain death. He couldn't have known that Giles would come after him in time to ground him. Of course, the difficulty was that if they didn't destroy the demon now, before Ethan's power ran too low to be effective, it would certainly kill them before Giles had even had the chance to ground Ethan. "You see, don't you?" Ethan asked tightly. 

"Oh God, yes," Giles whispered. "Ethan, you bloody idiot." He took a step closer and very carefully not touching Ethan -- not yet \-- said, "When I ground you, all you'll have to work with won't be enough to banish it. We're going to have to try something else." 

The demon threw back its head and howled. It sounded like laughter, not fear. The light in the circle flickered and dimmed and Giles spoke quickly. "I'll try to set up a barrier. So the power stays in me. Linked, both of us filled with all that we can hold, we can do it. Then I'll release the barrier, let what's left drain away and \--" 

"And if we haven't managed it, we're both dead anyway," Ethan finished for him, eyes never leaving the demon. He held out his hand toward Giles without hesitation, but said, "Not yet. Wait." 

Poised, Giles waited, readying his system for what was to come. The blast of magic would very possibly be greater than anything he'd ever channeled before, and he just had to hope that he could do it. The demon shrieked again, the sound filled with anger as it realised they had something planned but was unable to do anything but drain the power from the circle around it as quickly as Ethan fed into it. 

"I'm going to hit it with everything I've got," Ethan said. "Don't touch me until... well. You'll know." 

"Yes," Giles said. "I'll know." 

Ethan smiled without looking at him. "Clever Ripper." 

The circle flared and shrank away and Ethan struck, a raw blast of energy that drove Eshkath back away from them both, sending it crashing into the wall, plaster and bricks crumbling, in some places turning to little more than dust. Ethan staggered, dropping to one knee as the last of his own power left him, and then threw back his head and screamed as the emptiness within him reached out greedily and drew on the world for energy, filling him with more than he could control, overloading him 

Giles had begun to move as soon as Ethan stumbled, dropping to his knees with him as the surge of power hit. He took Ethan's hand and wrapped his other arm around him, holding him close as Eshkath roared and freed itself, shaking its head angrily, red eyes blazing with hunger and rage. 

It hurt. Giles had expected it to and thought he could handle it, but coming so close to the last time, with his body still weak, it began automatically to shunt the influx of power away and ease the agony. 

Ethan's hand twisted and tightened in his. "No!" 

Giles squeezed his eyes shut and regained control, feeling the power fill him until he was nothing _but_ power, pain dizzying and bright, robbing him of self. 

"Now," he whispered when he could hold no more. His voice strengthened and steadied as Eshkath lumbered towards them. "Now, Ethan!" 

He felt it when Ethan wrenched control away from him, opening a channel through which the power could flow, offering it no other avenue of escape. The magic blasted into the demon, knocking it backward and searing through its tough-skinned torso. It screamed in pain, both rough hands scrabbling at its chest as the magic continued to burn and be absorbed. 

There was so much power that it couldn't be controlled. It shot out in various directions, defying Giles and Ethan's attempts to guide it. One beam hit the wall, the effect rather like a localised earthquake as the board split upward until it hit the window frame. The glass shattered, tiny daggers flying everywhere. 

Eshkath was nothing but a pile of seared flesh on the floor, and still the magic refused to yield. 

"Enough!" Ethan shouted, giving Giles a violent shake, and with a massive effort, Giles re-opened the grounding channel that let the magic pour through him and into the earth below. 

He was on his knees, bits of the house scattered on the floor around him, and Ethan was beside him, hands running over his arms as if searching for injuries. 

"Are you all right? Rupert, answer me." Ethan sounded worried. 

Giles waited for the fatigue to drag at him, but this time, for some reason, it didn't come. He felt dizzy still, but really, considering all that had happened, that was nothing. "I'm fine." He glanced around. "God, what a mess." It was pitifully inadequate as a comment on the destruction around them, but he wasn't really up to more than that. His gaze returned to Ethan, still pale, still blood-smeared, still -- "You bloody fool, what the hell did you think you were _doing_?" 

Ethan pulled back and struggled to his feet, visibly trembling, his expression guarded. "I knew exactly what I was doing," he said coldly. "Being noble and self-sacrificing. Yes, it is rather amusing a thought, isn't it? Your heroism must be catching, Rupert. Do forgive me for not living down to your expectations of me." 

"I just meant that you should have waited," Giles said helplessly. "Not come alone." 

" _You_ shouldn't have come at all," Ethan pointed out. "You'd have been perfectly safe if you'd kept away." 

"And left you to die?" Giles shook his head. "I couldn't," he said simply. 

"And you call me a fool." Ethan brought his hand to his mouth, biting down at the skin around his finger, looking anywhere but at Giles. "Both of us willing to die for each other. How romantic." His face twisted in a mocking smile. "Or, alternatively, how maudlin. You know, this has been nice, Rupert, really, but I'm not sure it's working out." Before Giles had chance to comment, he added. "Are you well enough to drive?" There was something about the way he asked the question that seemed off. 

"What? Yes, I suppose so, but -- " Giles stood up, reaching out to Ethan to steady himself as the blood rushed to his head. Ethan allowed his arm to be held, but as soon as Giles straightened, he stepped back, shrugging off Giles' hand. Any thoughts of retracting what had, Giles was ready to admit, been impulsive words, born of hours of worry, left him. "Ethan, I'm not done here. What isn't working out?" 

"You're a very intelligent man, Rupert. Think about it. I feel confident you can come up with an answer." Ethan backed away from him, toward the door that led to the front hall. 

"None that makes any sense," Giles snapped. "And where the hell are you going now?" 

Somewhere, he was telling Ethan how worried he'd been, how he'd felt when he'd seen him in danger. Somewhere, they were kissing with the frantic hunger of the living surrounded by the dead. Somewhere, he wasn't watching Ethan walk away. 

He wished he were there. 

"Away from you," Ethan said bluntly. "Now that I know you're all right, that is. I'll take the other car again." In the doorway, he hesitated, the look he gave Giles softening. "I'm glad you're not hurt. Don't follow me." 

And he was gone before Giles could say any of the things he wanted to say, the sound of his footsteps as he walked through the front hall unnaturally loud in the now-silent house. 

Giles glanced around him, absently noting that Carlton's neck had been broken, which saved him the need to walk though splintered glass to check on him. A throb of pain in his neck told him not all the glass had ended up on the floor. Wincing, he tugged the sliver out, letting it drop, stained with his blood, to join the other fragments. 

The sound of a car engine and the spit of gravel as Ethan left roused him from his lethargy. Don't follow him? Was he mad? 

He was at the front door when he saw a phone on a table and paused. Reaching out, he picked it up and discovered that it was dead. Two bodies here, three at the cottage... he couldn't walk away from this the way Ethan had. 

He got into the car and drove away, slowing down when he reached the road and looking out for a phone box. When he found one he parked beside it and reached into his pocket for a handful of change. 

"Hello? Rupert Giles here... Yes, I know I'm no longer -- look, shut up and bloody well listen! You're going to need two clean-up teams... Yes." He leant against the wall of the phone box. "Yes, there are humans dead. I'll explain it when you get here, but you need to take care of something down on the coast..." 

He took his time driving back to the cottage after, not only because he wanted to give the Council team time to take care of the clean up, but also because he was, quite frankly, exhausted. He stopped at a service station for a cup of coffee that was unsurprisingly bitter and that helped give him enough energy to make it the rest of the way. 

The Council's team was just finishing up when Giles arrived, so he sat in the warm car and waited until they'd closed the van and nodded at him before going into the cottage. 

With the efficiency they showed when it came to tasks like this, there wasn't a trace of the three men or the fight. Not that there'd been much to deal with. He supposed that three electrocuted bodies didn't compare to eviscerated corpses and demon slime. 

The bed was still covered with rumpled sleeping bags, the quilt and pillow still on the floor. 

Giles walked over to the bed, lay down, and stopped thinking about anything for as long as he could manage it. He couldn't sleep; the remnants of the magic, tattered shreds of it, still clung to him, and he was riding the line between exhaustion and exhilaration with despair waiting patiently for its turn. 

What they had done that night had been reckless, but they'd had no other choice; allowing the demon to escape the circle would've resulted in carnage on a scale he didn't like to think about. He still didn't know exactly what had happened at the house and he was having trouble working out why Ethan had gone alone, but -- and he was thinking about Ethan again. 

Deciding that lying on the bed he'd shared with Ethan wasn't really the best idea he'd ever had, he sat up, absently stroking his hand across Ethan's pillow and smoothing out the indentation of his head. There. Gone. Like Ethan. 

It suddenly seemed very amusing that Ethan should be the one to leave this time. Giles started to laugh and caught himself as the sound, over-loud in the empty room, emerged as more of a sob. 

Standing up, he walked to the whisky bottle and poured himself a drink, sitting down at the table. Ethan's letter was in his pocket; he'd passed the translation over to the men who'd arrived at Carlton's place, all the explanation he'd needed for what had happened, and he knew Travers would want to see it. It would end up in a file somewhere, he supposed. 

Ethan's letter, though, like Ethan, had played no part in his terse summary. No need to complicate matters, and the last thing Ethan needed was to have the Council tracking him down. 

He took out the letter and read it before tossing it onto the table and pouring himself another drink. 

Giles sat there for a long time, staring at the table and taking the occasional sip of his whisky. He'd nearly reached the bottom of the glass and had begun to suspect that he might finally be able to sleep when he heard the sound of a car outside and a moment later the door opened, revealing an Ethan who looked, in the light from the lantern and the fire as weary as Giles felt. 

Giles set down his glass and then thought better of it, picking it up and draining it before speaking. "I thought you'd gone. Thought you weren't coming back." 

He tried very hard to keep it from sounding accusatory -- or desperate -- but he couldn't help the tremor in his voice. He put the glass on the table, pushing it away from him, all his attention on Ethan. 

Ethan came further into the room, watching Giles' face as if trying to determine what he was thinking. "I had to come back," Ethan said shakily. "Everything I have is here." 

Giles stood up. "Yes, I suppose it is," he said. He moved towards Ethan because he couldn't stay at a distance from him, couldn't let himself think, even for a moment, that Ethan might just be talking about the pitifully small holdall he'd brought with him, and that he'd have to watch him leave again. "Does everything include me?" 

"I'd like to think so." Ethan's eyes were dark, searching. "Does it?" 

" _Yes,_ " Giles said. "You know that it does." He couldn't find the words that would make Ethan see that without doubt, with the utter certainty that he felt, so he settled for stepping close enough that Ethan could touch him if he wanted to, holding his hands by his side with an effort. "Why did you go?" 

"You might be expecting too much of me if you think I can answer that," Ethan said, shrugging slightly. "I could say that it was because I needed to think, but I'm not sure I actually did all that much thinking. It's a good thing there was no one on the roads." He inched closer, looking for all the world as if he needed comfort. 

"I was angry with you," Giles said slowly. "But you must have known why. Christ, Ethan, seeing you like that, so close to dying --" He shuddered. "I thought I'd lost you," he said. "I thought I'd lost you, and --" It was impossible to convey the desolation of that moment, and he didn't want to. He moved closer to Ethan, taking the final step needed to bring them together and slipping one hand up to cup his cheek. "Don't do that again, love. Please?" 

Ethan closed his eyes briefly at the touch, but remained stubborn. "I didn't have a choice. You know that. If Carlton had had better sense than to get too close and Eshkath hadn't been able to get a claw into him, there'd have been other options." He seemed to be seeking approval, or perhaps just acknowledgment. "When I read that last stanza and understood what the spell needed..." 

"Ethan?" Giles leant in and kissed him, the fleeting contact leaving him aching for more. He just wanted to hold Ethan, hold him for hours until having him back felt real. "Tell me later?" 

A pause no longer than a heartbeat, and then Ethan's mouth was on his, the kiss more desperate than passionate, Ethan's hands clutching at Giles' shirt and pulling him closer as if Ethan wanted them to share the same space. "Ripper," Ethan breathed, licking at Giles' lips. 

"I'm right here," Giles said, tugging Ethan's hands away so that he could rub against him and giving a satisfied murmur as Ethan instantly slid them around his waist, bringing them together. "Right here." 

He opened his mouth to Ethan's tongue, kissing him back without reserve. Ethan's mouth was warm against his, and that was enough to make his able to slow the kiss down to something equally filled with yearning but less frantic. 

The kisses were long, breathless, eager. Ethan's hands ran up Giles' back to his shoulders, clinging and then travelled down along his spine and over his lower back as if memorising every inch of skin beneath his shirt. "Need you," Ethan muttered, pushing his hips forward to demonstrate. 

"Bed," Giles said, making a soft sound in his throat as he felt Ethan's erection brush against his own, the image of Ethan stretched out naked beside him filling his head. Even so he paused to give Ethan one more kiss before they moved over to the bed and had to separate long enough to strip, shedding their clothes quickly. 

He'd barely finished kicking off his second shoe, feet still entangled in his trousers, when a naked Ethan was in his arms again, either unable or unwilling to wait until they were in bed. The feel of Ethan's bare skin against his own made Giles gasp and grab onto Ethan's upper arms. "Please," Ethan managed to get out. "Just... need..." 

Then Ethan slid to his knees and his hot, wet mouth closed around the head of Giles' cock. 

"Oh God," Giles managed to say through the teeth he was gritting. "Ethan..." 

The eager, deep pull of Ethan's mouth was taking away his ability to speak coherently, but he knew he couldn't remain standing for much longer. Luckily, he was close enough to the bed that all he had to do was take a handful of Ethan's hair to halt him for a second, just a second because Ethan whimpered and the sound became tactile, drawing an answering moan from Giles, and collapse onto the bed, with Ethan still on his knees. He managed to free his feet from his trousers in the process, although he wasn't sure how and didn't care. It was enough that they were both naked now. 

He kept his hand in Ethan's hair, using his other hand to brace himself against the bed because he wanted -- needed -- to be touching Ethan, but made no attempt to control what Ethan was doing. 

It was probably just as well -- Ethan didn't seem capable of being controlled. He was like a force of nature, something so utterly unpredictable that he took one's breath away with his magnificence, and Giles realised in that moment that he wouldn't have changed that about Ethan even if he could. 

Ethan gave a throaty growl, the sound crawling up the insides of Giles' thighs and making his balls tighten. He looked up, meeting Giles' eyes steadily, and the sight of his own cock in Ethan's mouth was enough to make Giles groan. 

He spread his legs wider, arching his hips up slightly just to be able to see the slide of his cock past Ethan's lips, running his tongue over his own slowly enough to make it clear he was doing it deliberately, waiting to see how Ethan would respond with an anticipation he didn't bother to conceal. 

Ethan took him in deeper, sucked harder then suddenly surged upward, knocking Giles flat onto his back on the bed, straddling him. From below, in the dim light, Ethan looked wiry, strong, and rather exceedingly pleased with himself. He bent and kissed Giles, lips coaxing Giles' to part as Ethan spread his legs and rubbed the soft skin of his balls and inner thighs over Giles' erection. "I do like the way you look at me," Ethan murmured. 

"How do I look at you?" Giles asked him, stroking his hands over the curve of Ethan's backside before taking one hand away and hooking it behind his head, putting himself on display for Ethan with a small, challenging quirk of his lips. "Like I want to fuck you? Like you're mine? Like I love you?" He moved his head restlessly as Ethan repeated his caress. "Because they're all true." 

Ethan's mouth twisted into something Giles was certain was a smile, although Ethan didn't seem quite so sure. He bent and kissed Giles again, hard cock slicking a wet line onto Giles' belly. "Somehow, I'm not finding it difficult to believe that you want to fuck me," Ethan said, reaching back and fondling Giles' balls with more gentleness than Giles would have thought him capable of at that moment. 

"I'll let you have a contrary opinion on the second one, but not the third," Giles said. He moved his hand down and drew his finger through the slickness on his stomach, bringing it to his mouth and licking it clean without looking away from Ethan's face. "Want me to convince you? Or do you want to shut me up?" He let his gaze fall to Ethan's cock and smiled. "I can think of one way..." 

"There are plenty of ways to shut you up," Ethan said, grinning. "Gags, for one. Although I rather fancy being able to hear the things you say when you're fucking me. Going back to the previous topic of conversation." He pushed his hips back, very nearly getting them into position with nothing more than the gyration of his body. "I did like that topic of conversation, Ripper." 

"It was hardly a conversation," Giles pointed out, trying to ignore the urge to push up into Ethan and feel the tight heat of his body around his cock. He propped himself up on his elbows and gave Ethan a slow, wicked smile. "I said I wanted to fuck you. You said you believed me. End of story." He reached up and slipped his hand around Ethan's neck, pulling his head down and biting gently at Ethan's lip. "Wanting and doing are two different things, Ethan, but they can work together. If you want me in you, you've got to do something." He turned his head and stared at the small table beside the bed. "Besides reach out and grab that bottle of lube, that is." 

Ethan did, he noticed, obey that part of it quickly enough, leaning the required distance to reach the bottle of lube and squeezing some of it onto his fingers. Ethan's hand disappeared around behind his thigh, and Giles could tell from his expression and movements that he was preparing himself, slicking himself up. "What is it that I have to do?" Ethan asked, stroking Giles' erection lightly with still-sticky fingers in a way that Giles was certain Ethan knew drove him near-mad with desire. 

He closed his eyes for a moment to regain some small measure of control, impossible when he was staring into Ethan's dark eyes, alight with arousal and mischief. "You," he said, opening them again, "know me too well, don't you?" He reached out and took hold of Ethan's cock, running his thumb up and down the shaft with a touch as teasingly light as Ethan's. "But it goes both ways. I remember everything I ever did to you, Ethan. Every place on your body where I could touch you and feel you quiver, kiss you and make you moan." He let his gaze travel over Ethan's body, still lithe and strong. "I still could. And I will. But you wanted to talk." He didn't wait for Ethan to protest that interpretation of his words, just lay back and ran his hands over Ethan's hips, pushing him down so that the head of his cock nudged firmly against Ethan's opening. "Second topic, Ethan." He was having trouble keeping his voice light, and his hands were digging into Ethan's skin. "I say you're mine, and it seems you've got a problem with that." He pushed up, feeling the slicked skin give way slightly, allowing him to slide the head of his cock into Ethan's body. "I'm here, and I'm yours, Ethan. Do you have a problem with that, too?" 

Ethan's jaw tightened as Giles eased into him, nostrils flaring as he breathed in through them before giving a slight shake of his head. 

"Wouldn't call it a problem, no." Ethan's hands were braced on Giles' chest. 

"Well, that's something," Giles murmured. He wasn't in the best position to push up, but he only had to relax his grip on Ethan's hips to get a little further inside him as Ethan sank down immediately, his gasp mirrored by Giles'. "Thank you," Giles said, tightening his hands again. "That's enough." 

It really wasn't, though. Giles felt heat prickle over him, teasing licks of arousal. Ethan was _there_ , slippery and open and ready for him and he wanted to lie back and watch Ethan fuck himself on Giles' cock, wanted to watch his face as he did it, see his mouth shape moans and say words that wouldn't make sense at any other time. Giles abandoned the attempt to convince Ethan for a moment and looked up at him. "Ethan --" He moved one hand, trailing it over the jutting hipbone, up over Ethan's stomach, feeling the muscles tense and harden. "Can't do this," he said, his voice hoarse. He dragged his fingernails down Ethan's belly, hard enough to leave marks. "I want you and I can't wait and you're mine and I love you and _fuck_ -" 

Ethan leant in, bracing himself with one hand on either side of Giles' head so that their eyes could meet while continuing to raise and lower himself on Giles' cock. With his expression surprisingly tender, Ethan said, "What do you want, Ripper? Do you want to throw me on my back and fuck me long and hard until I can't do anything but shout your name? Or shall we do it like this, with me riding you? Tell me what you need, love." The last word slipped out as if Ethan was unaware he'd spoken it. 

"Stay," Giles managed to say, his eyes locked on Ethan's face. "Like this. Stay." He raised himself on his elbows. "And you know what I need. What I want." He glared at him, feeling a sudden flash of hurt anger. "And don't call me that if you don't mean it." 

"Call you...?" Ethan looked puzzled then he smiled gently and leant the three or four inches so that he could kiss Giles, the press of his mouth soft and slow. "You want me to say that I love you, Rupert? How can you possibly not know that? I've loved you since the first time we met, and I've never stopped." 

The warmth of the words and the gentle kiss left Giles feeling calmer, but he shook his head stubbornly. "I _do_ want to hear that," he said. "But that's not what I meant." He kissed Ethan's neck, feeling the steady, swift beat of his pulse and flickering his tongue against the smooth skin. He paused and turned his head to glance up at Ethan. "I love you. Tell me you believe that. Tell me you trust that not to change, and I'll stop talking." 

He'd have thought that Ethan might agree to anything in that moment just to shut him up, but instead the other man stopped moving entirely, gaze solemn. " _Can_ I trust you?" Ethan asked. "Is it true?" He seemed to need the words as badly as Giles needed them to be believed. 

"It's been true for years," Giles told him. "All that anger and guilt I felt; it was all you saw -- all I wanted you to see -- but I never stopped loving you. I can't see it changing now. I don't want it to." Nothing mattered right then but making Ethan accept that, and Giles wasn't sure if he would. If he could. 

Ethan kissed him again, very slowly, tongue tracing Giles' upper lip. Then, "I want to believe you. I don't suppose that will do?" Ethan sounded rather sad as if he were prepared to be sent away. 

"It's better than nothing, but I want more than that," Giles said. He slipped his hand around Ethan's neck, stroking his thumb slowly across the hollow behind Ethan's ear and watching him shiver. "I'm going to keep asking you, you know. Every day until you tell me you do." He turned his head and bit down hard on Ethan's earlobe. "Every single bloody day," he whispered. 

With a small, needy sound, Ethan caught Giles' mouth with his own and proceeded to kiss him eagerly, starting the rocking motion of his hips again and making Giles groan. "Is it all right if I do this in the meantime?" Ethan murmured. "Because it does remind me of one of the reasons I love you." 

As Giles wasn't sure how much longer he could have waited before thrusting up into Ethan, he wasn't inclined to argue, settling for growling, "You're incorrigible, you know that?" before placing his hands on Ethan's arse, encouraging him to sink down deeper. 

"Oh, I know," Ethan agreed, arching his back. "It's why I'm so appealing." Following Giles' urging hands, he began to move rhythmically, fucking himself on Giles' cock. He looked, Giles had to admit, exceedingly appealing like that, with his eyes half-closed and his lips parted, cock swollen and dark and wet at the tip. 

Keeping one hand on Ethan's flank, enjoying the feel of his muscles bunching and releasing as Ethan moved, Giles brought his other hand around to caress Ethan's cock lightly, brushing his hands lower across his balls and watching them tighten. He glanced up, saw Ethan bite down on his lip and grinned. "Is it still appealing when it's me being incorrigible?" he asked, continuing to touch Ethan with his fingertips, but doing no more than that, knowing Ethan wanted his hand tight and hard around his cock, stripping it ruthlessly. 

"Now you're just being cruel," Ethan said, curling his own fingers around himself, tangled with Giles', and _squeezing_ until Giles could feel the ridge just below Ethan's cock head catch as it rubbed across the pad at the base of his finger. 

"And yet you trust me enough to let me tie you up," Giles said, not making it a question. He began to work Ethan's cock with slow, firm strokes, Ethan waiting until he was sure Giles wouldn't stop before taking his hand away. "You don't think I wouldn't be just as cruel to you then?" He ran his tongue across his lips, watching Ethan's eyes. "I will be, you know. I'll make you beg --" He closed his eyes for a moment as his cock throbbed, the images in his head coupled with the here-and-now threatening to leave his precarious control in ruins. 

"It wouldn't be the first time," Ethan said, his eyes fairly glowing at the prospect as his movements became more forceful. "Like this?" He lowered his voice, making it gravelly and dark, the sound making Giles' balls ache. "Please, Ripper. Fuck me. I'll promise anything you like if you'll fuck me. Please." 

"God, yes, just like that," Giles said fervently, not bothering to hide the effect Ethan was having on him, his words forced out between gasps. "And I always did." He slowed down the slide of his hand over Ethan's cock even more, although he kept his grip tight. "Eventually. Because I loved hearing how much you wanted me." He gave Ethan a tight smile, not sure how much longer he could make this last. Not now Ethan was slamming down against him like that, fast and perfect, with Giles managing to thrust up into him just a little, trying to keep his cock deep inside Ethan's heat -- He began to jerk Ethan off properly, with rapid, urgent strokes, too close to coming now to make either of them wait. "Still...do..." 

Ethan gave a strangled cry and moved faster, fucking himself on Giles' cock and into Giles' hand, breathing harsh and ragged. "Ripper..." A gasp, a twitch, and Ethan came, spilling his release over Giles' fingers, mouth open and eyes closed. 

Giles didn't know what brought his own climax rushing through him, but if he had to pick something out of the assault on his senses, he'd have chosen Ethan's final word. No one said that name the way Ethan did, making it a taunt, a reminder, an endearment. No one ever had. 

He started to come as Ethan's eyes opened, staring down at him, dark and wild and lost in pleasure, his hips jerking up with a desperate need for just one more thrust, one more moment inside Ethan's body. But with the echo of his name on Ethan's lips he couldn't make this last and he gave in, allowing his release to take him, leave him with nothing to do but slip his arms around Ethan and hold on. 

For long minutes afterward neither of them moved, Ethan seemingly content to lie sprawled on top of Giles while they both caught their breath. "Mm," Ethan said finally, managing to stretch a bit without supporting his own weight. He lifted his head and kissed Giles -- not just once and perfunctorily as Giles would have expected, but slowly and with small sounds of pleasure and contentment. 

Giles returned the kisses, caught up in a haze of happiness that was centred on Ethan, bound up in him. They eased apart, rolling to their sides, still wrapped around each other, still sharing the soft, loving kisses that were making Giles feel that if he asked Ethan his question again, he might get a different answer. 

But that could wait. 

Some time later, they both drifted into a light doze, and just as the sun was coming up, Giles woke to find himself alone in the bed. "Ethan?" he mumbled. There was no reply. 

Half-drugged with sleep, Giles got up and went to the front window, but both cars were still in the drive, although Ethan's jacket seemed to be missing and the door was not quite latched. 

He pulled on his own shoes and jacket and went outside, blinking at the pale orange of sunrise and almost immediately spotting Ethan sitting on a rock overlooking the sea, back to the cottage. At the sound of Giles' shoes crunching on pebbles, Ethan turned and saw him. "I really hate the great outdoors," Ethan said, with a little smile. 

"City boy," Giles said with a nod, joining him by the rock. "I remember." He sat down beside Ethan on the grass, damp, but not enough to bother him, and leant against him, resting his arm on Ethan's leg. "We'll be back there soon, I'm sure." He glanced up at him, seeing that Ethan looked tired still, but far more relaxed. "How do you feel this morning?" 

"Tip top shape," Ethan said. "Good as new." He brushed some sand from his trousers and then he leant forward and picked up a stone about the size of a plum, holding it in his palm where Giles could see it. With a muttered word, the rock turned to a handful of sand, grains drifting and sparkling in the morning light. 

Giles tensed, waiting for the skies to darken, or worse, but nothing happened. He picked up a pinch of the sand and smiled. "So you are." He sat for a moment in thought. "Last night?" he guessed. "There was a lot of power flying around..." 

Nodding, Ethan tossed what was left of the sand to the ground. "Must have been. When I grabbed hold of all that power you'd so thoughtfully collected, something... shifted back into place. I can't really explain it better than that, but I suppose I have one fewer reason to hate Mr. Carlton, at least." The sea in front of them was tinged a strange combination of pink and green, the waves lapping gently over the rocks. "So. I'm back to normal," Ethan said casually. 

Giles laughed, the sound not carrying far in the open space around them, swept away by a breeze from the sea, salt-laden and fresh. "I have to say, Ethan, it's not an adjective I'd ever associate with you, no matter what your state of health." He tilted his head. "I'm out of a job then. You don't need me to stay close any more." He sighed. "Pity. I rather enjoyed it." 

The look Ethan gave him was, unsurprisingly, guarded, and he was clearly making an effort to sound casual when he said, "Should we just go our separate ways then? Since you've gone and made yourself redundant." 

Giles felt a moment of confused panic that led, inevitably, to him snapping at Ethan. "What? No, certainly not!" He stood up, giving Ethan an indignant look. "Are you saying the only reason you agreed to us trying again was because you thought you'd be stuck like that for a while? Well, thank you very bloody much!" 

"I was trying to provide you with an easy out, if you wanted one," Ethan said. "I'm not... I may not be the same person I was some twenty-odd years ago in London, Rupert, but I'm not all that different, either. Bit late for this leopard to change his spots. I don't know if I would even if I could. Not even for you." He was looking out to sea again, the line of his shoulders tense. 

"Which would be a problem if you were planning to end the world or something similar," Giles said, "because then I'd have to stop you. But you could've done that any time you wanted these last few months, and you didn't." He stared past Ethan to the restless sea below. "And you never would, past, present or future. It's not in you." He moved to stand beside Ethan, not touching him, not yet. "You don't need to change to be someone I can love, Ethan. You already are." 

"I think I like the world a little too much to try to end it," Ethan said, leaving Giles to wonder if he'd been listening at all. He turned his head and looked at Giles. "Come on, it's cold. Let's get you back inside." 

"I'm not the one who decided to leave a warm bed containing an equally warm me to watch the sunrise," Giles said, slipping his arms around Ethan as the other man stood up and kissing him briefly. "If I've got cold hands now, it's entirely your fault." He frowned. "You're not planning on making a habit of it, are you? Because it's going to ruin my plans for tomorrow if you do." 

"Oh really?" Ethan said as they started toward the cottage with an arm each wrapped around the other's waist. "And what plans are those?" 

"They start with you bringing me a cup of tea..." Giles began, carrying on before Ethan had chance to do more than raise his eyebrows. "Which will have to be thrown away because by the time I've finished thanking you for it it'll be stone cold and I probably won't have the strength to lift it anyway." 

Ethan's grin was wide. "I think I could get on board with that sort of plan," he said, slipping his hand between Giles' shirt and jacket. 

"Good," Giles said. "Because I was thinking of repeating it at regular intervals. It's a simple plan. Unless you think that would get boring?" He turned within Ethan's arm, bringing them close, his eyes searching Ethan's face for any hint of unhappiness. "Do you?" 

"Boring?" Ethan said. "Us?" He shook his head, everything about him radiating an oddly peaceful but still Ethan-like delight. "Not if we don't let it, Rupert." 

"You know we'll argue, don't you?" Giles told him, unable to resist leaning in and kissing him, needing to feel Ethan kiss him back. "No one in the world gets me as annoyed as you do." He bit down gently on Ethan's lip. "We used to do that a lot. Argue. Fight." His hands moved slowly down Ethan's back. "And you did it on purpose most of the time, and I let you because making up was so... spectacular." He slid his tongue past Ethan's for a deeper kiss and murmured, "I'm quite looking forward to our first argument." 

"I'm not above manufacturing one," Ethan said. "Although I wouldn't mind waiting a few days." He kissed Giles again. "Are you free on Thursday?" 

"Yes," said Giles, reaching out to push open the cottage door. "I am." 

"What about the Wednesday after that?" Ethan asked, and at Giles' look, he explained, "Wouldn't want to fall into too predictable a routine." 

Giles shook his head. "No, we wouldn't. I'll clear my calendar for you all the same, shall I?" 

"No need," Ethan said, with a playful grin. "Far more fun to distract you from what you should be doing." 

"Ethan..." Giles protested, but it was a token protest at best, and they both knew it. 

"We're _supposed_ to be arguing," Ethan reminded him. "Now, let's pack up and get back to civilisation, shall we?" 

Giles caught him by the arm as he began to turn away and pulled him in for another kiss, hard and passionate. "Or we could go back to bed." 

Ethan smiled. "Persuade me," he said.  
  
  



End file.
